Dawn Of A New Age
by ParaCaerOuVoar
Summary: Fifteen ordinary people, their lives changed beyond comprehension. They join forces with people we know, and someone we don't. Eighteen becomes thirteen, will it be the end of the world, or the dawning of a new age?
1. Heroes fall, new Heroes rise

This is my entry for csiaddict2's competition. This first chappie is kinda short, but the next chapters will be longer!

I know it's a cheesy summary and title, and if will most likely change it, but for now, don't mock me.

I own neither Heroes nor CSI. I don't even own Mary or Courtney, but I do love them both! –hugs-

---

She looked down at her list, ink running in the torrential rain, making the names unreadable. Not that it mattered, it wasn't like she hadn't read the list a hundred times before, memorizing each name and- a siren wails past her, making her jump, water trickling down the back of her trench coat.

She tucked the list back into an inside pocket, reciting the names in her head, a red X next to some names, unbidden.

_Gilbert Grissom X_

_Catherine Willows X_

_Nicholas Stokes_

_Sara Sidle X_

_Warrick Brown_

_Gregory Sanders_

_James Brass_

_Archie Johnson_

_Maclaren Taylor_

_Stella Bonasera_

_Daniel Messer_

_Lindsay Monroe X_

_Sheldon Hawkes_

_Donald Flack Jr._

_Adam Ross_

_Gabriel Petrelli_

_Courtney Hunter_

_Maran St John X_

_Noah Bennet_

A chill ran through her as the last name was followed by an X, but she knew then that she would die tonight.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, she thought of those that had already fallen. Peter Petrelli, Matt Parkman, Hiro Nakamura, Claire Bennet. All brave warriors, they had all been taken by the Hunter.

All except her and Gabriel.

He was in New York, recruiting the others. Together, the twelve remaining Heroes would have to put everything into one last push against the darkness.

Providing they survived tonight.

Pushing herself away from the lamppost she had been standing against, she shielded her neck from the elements and made her way over to the brightly lit Las Vegas Crime Lab, unsure what exactly what she would find, but knowing that it would be the end of the world, or the dawn of a new age.

---

Well?

I know I used CSI NY as well, but you didn't say I couldn't, plus I needed Gabriel to be doing something as well.

Also, Gabriel is now Gabriel, not Sylar, although he uses the name Sylar for the 'new recruits', he is a good guy (sort of) think post season 2, pre daddy petrelli.

I'll try and update ASAP


	2. Gabriel, Petrelli?

OK, here goes for chapter 2!

A/N: Sylar/Gabriel is a little OOC in this, but as you will see, he is no longer the same person as on the show. Non Heroes watchers, ignore my ramblings.

---

He watched them come to and fro, milling about like fish in a pond. Opening the manila file in his hand, he scanned the information once more, committing it to memory one final time, turning to the photos.

Glancing through the crowd, he found his first 'recruit', as Maran was so amusingly calling them. Moving through the crowd, he was a man with a purpose, a man with a destination. Gabriel slipped out from the shadows and followed him carefully, getting close enough to sense the power that lay dormant inside him.

--

'I'm gonna kill them all.'

Mac Taylor turned, surprised. Searching the crowd for the speaker, he heard it again, clear as a bell, inside his head. 'I'm gonna kill them, and then myself.'

Over there. A man, tall, skinny but well built, wearing a long coat and a baseball hat was watching him intently, his dark eyes boring into Mac's. He reached into his inside pocket and grasped something. Could it be a gun? Probably not. Did Mac want to take that chance? Definitely not. Moving swiftly, he ducked around into an alley and drew his gun. He knew this city like the back of his hand, and he circled the building, coming around behind the man.

He raised his gun, pointing it at the baseball cap. 'NYPD, drop your weapon.' He ordered, eyes never leaving the other man.

He turned slowly, and brought his hand out of his coat. It held nothing, and Mac cursed inwardly.

The man smiled, and took his baseball cap off, showing Mac angular features and prominent eyebrows. 'Hello Maclaren.'

Mac frowned. How did this man know his real name? Not even Stella knew that, the only person that knew was Claire. 'How did you know my name?'

'I know a lot about you. I know you're hearing voices, you think you're going crazy. I know you lost your wife and you still blame yourself.'

'Who are you?'

'I'm not important. What's important is that you come with me. I have something for you. A message from your wife.'

Mac was torn. This guy was obviously some whack job stalking him, but yet…

For the past few days, Mac had been hearing voice in his head. He'd put it down to not enough sleep, but maybe it was something more.

And Claire…

He sighed and holstered his gun, following after the mysterious man silently, wondering what he could possibly have to show him.

--

Following him down a dark alley, Mac focused intently on the dark figure leading him through the maze of alleys in New York City. Suddenly there was an onslaught of whispers coming from him, and Mac clutched his head.

Forcing himself to concentrate, he blocked out most of the thought except one, which intrigued him.

Sylar…

A name? A place?

Mac tucked the name away for later on and quickened his pace until he was level with the figure. 'Sylar?' he asked carefully, keeping one hand on his gun.

The man stopped walking, and turned to face him. Mac tensed, ready to fight or flight, as it were.

'You're good. Very good. Sylar is what I used to be, and what I will have to become.'

'What about now?'

'Gabriel. Gabriel…' he paused, unshed tears shining in his eyes. 'Petrelli.'

--

I know I said the next chapter would be a lot longer, but I've got The Block, so I'll post this, and hopefully the posts will get longer.

This story isn't gonna make a whole lot of sense right now, but all will become clear, I promise.


	3. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friends

Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I'm gonna try and get a couple up chapters up ASAP.

For the record, the character in this, The Hunter, was created before I started watching Heroes vol 4, and so is entirely my creation and nothing to do with Tim Kring. Everyone else belongs to him though, in this chapter anyway. Apart from Maran, who I still don't own.

Once again, I own nothing.

--

No matter their differences, in this time of need, they stood united, no longer us against them, but us against Her.

There she stood, Navy trench coat flapping around her in the fierce wind conjured up by Gabriel, no longer the enemy, but a powerful ally, one who could be their savior.

There they stood, brothers and sisters in arms, across the wasteland, the area destroyed by the fearsome rage of The Hunter, as they refused to join her and rid the world of non gifted people. No-one, not even Gabriel would be a part of the genocide she was proposing.

Her sapphire eyes flashed as she surveyed the line of people in front of her, the only opposition to her. Adam Monroe and Claire Bennet, the healers. Peter Petrelli, the sponge. Nathan Petrelli, the flier. Hiro Nakamura, the time traveler. Tracy Strauss, the ice woman. Meredith and Flint Gordon, the fire starters. Matt Parkman, the telepath. Gabriel Petrelli, the psychopath. And the one that brought them all together. Maran St John, the precog. She saw this coming and rallied the troops for war. On the horizon, too far for normal human eyes to see, they stood, even the weak ones, ones without powers. Ando Masahashi, the faithful sidekick. Mohinder Suresh, the scientist. Noah Bennet, morally grey.

Poor unfortunate heroes.

Raising her hands to the heavens, she brought hell crashing down on them.

Matt was the first to die, he went heroically. Making one last attempt to breach her barricaded mind, she turned his own power against him, gaining control of his brain, making him lose all function, commanding him to stop breathing, stop living. She dropped his corpse like a rag doll flung aside by a child, already bored and wanting a new toy.

Tracy Strauss tried to run, but The Hunter flipped the switch and froze her, inside out. That sent Nathan over the edge and he attacked, followed quickly by Hiro and Ando, together until the end. She sent Nathan soaring into the sky, never to return. Hiro was frozen in time and out of time, always there, never anywhere, Ando with him and away from him, for all eternity.

The healers were next to die, writhing in pain and agony as every wound they ever healed from reopened, blood drenching the ground like rain in a storm.

The fire starters burned alive, blue and orange fire engulfing them, turned them to ash, dust in the wind. Dying flames licked at the scientist, setting him alight. His animalistic scream was music to her ears.

Peter fought valiantly, his powerful mind battering down every assault she brought on him, until he could fight no longer. She watched images flashing through his mind, NathanClaireHiroMattMohinder, as well as ones already dead. IssacNikkiDLSimone. With one final push, he offered his powers to Gabriel, before giving himself over to her. He used the dregs of his telekinetic power to rip him to shreds, strands of ligament and tendons spattering the survivors. She turned to Noah, the weakest of the three, but was distracted by the electricity running through Gabriel's veins. Letting Sylar to the surface, his eyes darkened and he towered over her, rage and despair mixed on his face. Raising one arm, he flung her away, the grief of his dead friends giving him the strength of a thousand men. Then he ran, like a coward, taking Maran and Noah with him, taking his flightiness from Daphne, the speedster. She was one of the first to die, her mind easy to break, many months ago.

She watched the dust settle, content to bask in her victory, for now. She would kill them when the time came.

--

She could still remember that day, clear as crystal, watching her friends die in front of her, unable to do anything. What could she do? Why hadn't she seen it coming? She could have saved them. And yet she didn't. For a long time they had hated her, Noah and Gabe, and she hated herself. For a year she had wallowed in self indulgent pity, ignoring the future, even when her friends forgave her. It took The Vision to pull her out of it, to begin to command again, begin rallying to the troops, for one last push against the epitome of evil.

Standing in the lobby of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she wondered once again, whether this was a good idea. The hunter had found her once before, and it had cost her her best friend's life, and her oldest ally's fiancée.

Elle had died a hero; she had gone down fighting, sacrificing herself to save Maran. It had been her death that sparked off the war.

Gabriel had been changed forever when she died, joining the side of the good, learning about his family heritage, becoming a Petrelli in name and person. It had been because of him and Noah that they had resisted her as long as they had, but they still ultimately fell, and no-one, not even Maran, could have prevented that.

--

I know this is short, but I wanted to get a chapter up, I'll try and get a new chapter up ASAP. Also, this may seem like a useless chapter, but I wanted to explain more about how heartless the Hunter really is. Next chappie, Gil meets Maran, and Mac learns something about his wife that he never expected.


	4. Keeping it in the family

Thanks for all the reviews folk! They really make my day!

--

Maneuvering around a struggling drunk in handcuffs, Maran floated gracefully through the crowds, looking for eight faces. Not just any eight, the eight on her list.

Gil Grissom, the entomologist, trying to deal with his own problems, and those of his team. Catherine Willows, the ex stripper, trying to raise her daughter empty handed. Warrick Brown, the gambler, trying to prove to himself and those around him he was no longer an addict. Nick Stokes, the Texan, so far from home, trying to hide his scars from his friends, scared of them caring too much, or not at all. Greg Sanders, the lab geek, hiding his true insecurities behind crazy hairdo's and bright t-shirts. Sara Sidle, the ghost, trying to find a place in a world where geeks are ostracized, not revered, in love with a person who doesn't seem to notice her, or indeed anything. Jim Brass, the world weary cop, tired of his job, but still fighting because if he doesn't, who else will? Archie Johnson, the computer wizard, always there, never thanked, part of the team, but not one of them. They were all special, so special.

They would be the saviors of humankind.

Moving silently through the corridors, her sharp eyes looking for one office in particular, a room that had been appearing to her in dreams for weeks now, she thanked whatever passed for God these days that all the people on her list lived in either one of two cities. Some weird genetic anomaly that even Mohinder wouldn't have been able to explain.

Out of the corner of her cobalt eyes, she glimpsed a foetal pig in a jar, and a two headed scorpion. This had to be the right place. She knocked gently on the open door, and heard the distracted sounding greeting 'Open,' and decided to make an entrance.

Unbuttoning the trench coat so it flowed behind her when she moved like water, she whirled into the office, eyes flashing, hair floating around her head.

Stopping in front of the desk, she looked down at the grey haired man sitting there, watching her with mild amusement and more than a little curiosity.

_OK, stuff the mysterious entrance, clearly that only works for Noah and Gabe,_ she thought, and sat on the edge of his desk. 'Gil Grissom?' she asked.

'Yes, but you already know that,' he said, removing his wire framed glasses and placing them on the desk next to his pen. 'Why do you ask a question you already know the answer to?'

'Because in a world you don't recognize, hearsay information is hard to verify.'

He laughed then, standing up, towering over Maran's diminutive stature. He held out a hand. 'Not to be rude, but who are you?'

'My name is Maran St John. I need your help.'

--

A single tear slipped down his cheek, falling to the floor below.

Without really knowing why, Mac placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting an almost stranger. Without warning, he was plagued with thoughts, images of people's faces, names running through his mind, too fast for him to match. A blond woman with a cheeky smile. A teenager in a cheerleading outfit. A small Japanese man with rectangular glasses, face screwed up in concentration. A cop, with a serious face, brown eyes staring intently. A man in a suit, jaw squared in steely determination. A younger man, fringe falling into his face, cheeks and nose marred by a deep scar. An Indian man, drawing blood, focused on only the needle. A latino woman, black tears falling down her face. An older woman, expensive clothes, stepping out of a limo. ElleClaireHiroMattNathanPeterMohinderMayaAngela.

Gabriel closed his eyes and breathed deeply, getting control of his actions. The names and faces stopped, and Mac jerked his hand away from the shoulder as he was shocked by the electric current that ran through him suddenly.

'Wow,' he commented, rubbing his hand. 'Impressive. All I can do is read your mind.'

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving upwards into a smile. Something told Mac that this was a rare occurrence. 'One of my many talents,' he smirked, holding out a hand, blue lightning playing across the fingers and dancing up his arm.

Mac reached out with one finger, touching the lightning gently. Then it did something neither of them were expecting. It sparked off Gabriel's hand and jumped onto Mac's, running up his arm, covering his whole body. He yelled in surprise, and the electricity blew off him in all directions, frying a local power wire, sending yellow sparks falling on them both. Gabriel raised his arms, and the lightning returned to him, like a calling pigeon, it covered his face and exposed arms, before melting down into one palm. He closed it slowly, extinguishing it.

They both stood in silence, until Gabriel's face darkened and he narrowed his eyes. 'You are fucking kidding me,' he declared, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. 'You're a fucking sponge!'

Mac backed away a couple of steps. It this guy could conjure up lightning, there was no telling what else he could do. 'A sponge?' he asked, from a safe distance.

'Yeah, you uh, you absorb other people's powers. My uh, my brother was one.'

Mac picked up on the past tense. 'Was? When did you lose him?'

Gabriel said nothing, looking at the floor. Mac moved on.

'So, are there more like us?'

'There were, and there may be again,' he replied eventually, looking at Mac with tortured eyes.

'So why do you need me?' Mac asked, and they both started walking again, approaching an apartment block, climbing the stairs and entering a loft apartment, the walls covered in painting, the tables cluttered with dusty lab machines. They approached an ancient looking TV, and Gabriel dug around on a nearby table, looking for something. He pulled out an old video cassette and inserted it into the VCR.

'Because I'm fighting a war, and you and twelve others are our last hope.' He pressed play, and the grainy image started up, showing a dark haired woman, sitting in an apartment somewhere, another woman next to her.

Mac gasped. 'Claire.' He turned to Gabriel. 'She was one of you?'

Gabriel nodded.

'Why didn't she tell me?' he sighed, before turning his attention back to the video.

---

Hope people liked that, next chapter coming up ASAP


	5. Wings

Thanks for all the reviews guy!

--

'_My name is Maran St John. I need your help.'_

Grissom said nothing, but had a curious look on his face, like he had known this would be happening.

From an inside pocket, Maran drew out a folder, dropping it on his desk. 'I need to find these people,' she said, opening the file and tossing mug shots of people on his desk, over the paperwork. He let her, and when she was done, he picked up eight photos, shuffling them together in a pile.

'I knew someone would come for us, sooner or later.' He said, opening a desk drawer and rifling through it for a pager, which he drew out and sent a page to someone, before replacing it in the drawer. He stood up, moving over to the whiteboard that hung on one wall of his office, and began blu-tacking the pictures that he had gathered up. Soon he had then in a neat two by four table, and he grabbed a board marker and began writing names underneath, followed by what Maran guessed were their respective powers.

Gil Grissom- Teleportation

Catherine Willows- Invisibility

Warrick Brown- Flight

Nick Stokes- Elemental control

Sara Sidle- X-ray vision

Greg Sanders- Super speed

Jim Brass- Super strength

Archie Johnson- Technopathy

Maran surveyed the board once he was done, nodding slowly. 'OK, that's good, nice spread of abilities.'

For the first time since she had met him, Grissom looked surprised. 'You mean, you aren't here to test us?'

'Oh yeah, I'm here to test you, not the way you're imagining though.'

She heard people behind her, and she turned to find a handsome dark skinned man and a blonde woman staring at her, looking slightly aghast.

The man cleared his throat and stepped forward. 'Gris, who's she? Why does she have pictures of us all? What the hell is going on?'

His eyes blazed as he strode towards her, but Grissom stepped in front of him, halting him. 'It's OK 'Rick, she knows. She may even be one of us.'

He scowled at her, but the blond woman stepped up and took a hold of his arm, tugging it. 'Come on Warrick, she's not gonna hurt you.'

At this Maran piped up. 'Warrick? Warrick Brown?'

'Yeah. And who are you?'

'My name is Maran. And you can fly, am I right?'

Warrick turned as red as his dark complexion would let him and nodded.

'Would you mind if I observed you in flight?'

'I uh, I guess not,' he mumbled, turning an even deeper shade of red.

'Have I overstepped here?' she whispered to Grissom out of the side of her mouth.

'No, Warrick's just a touch sensitive about his wings,' he replied, watching Warrick shift from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

Maran glanced at him. 'Wings?' she said, incredulously.

'Yeah. Why? Something wrong?'

'Well, I knew a few fliers, and none of em had wings…' she trailed off, and started circling Warrick, scrutinising him closely.

'Can I see them?' she asked suddenly, making him flinch.

'Uhhhh…' he hesitated, but a nod from Grissom seemed to put him more at ease, and he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing a black wife beater underneath. Circling him again, she stopped when she looked over his shoulder and saw a huge pair of feathery white wings, folded up tightly. He must have cut slits in the wife beater to allow his wings room to move.

Maran breathed out slowly, reaching out to touch them. They were exactly like a dove, soft and downy. The muscles in his back rippled, and she could feel the power in them.

She turned to face the door as she heard a cough in the doorway. Standing there were five people, all from the pictures on the whiteboard. These must be Nick, Greg, Jim, Archie and Sara.

They advanced slowly, looking wary of her, unsure of what might happen. Greg appeared to be vibrating. Maran raised an eyebrow.

Obviously trying to diffuse the hostile situation, Grissom stepped forward, introducing her. 'Guys this is Maran. She needs our help. Maran, this is-'

Greg, Nick, Sara, Archie and Jim,' she finished for him, smiling brightly at the assorted people in the now crowded room.

They all said nothing, apart from Greg, who vibrated up to her, and looked up into her face.

'Why'd you need our help?'

'Because I can't do this myself, and if I fail, it will be the end of everything.

--

I thought I would end it here. Shorter chapters, faster updates is how I see it. Next up, the videotape!


	6. Friends, old and new

Sorry, it's taken me so long to update guys, I'll try and update more regularly this time!

Thanks for all the reviews guys!

Once again, I own no one.

--

Mac watched the grainy footage on the television screen, speechless for the first time in a very long time. Claire moved around the loft, looking everywhere but the camera, explaining in her quiet, Chicago accent. Mac felt a lump of emotion in his throat looking at the woman he had loved and lost.

'Mac, if you're watching this then it means I'm dead, or missing. I have to tell you something, and while you might not believe, I'm sure whoever brought you this tape can prove it.'

At this Gabriel smirked, letting blue lightning play on along his arms, disappearing into his sleeves.

'There are people in this world who are not human, not really. They can play at humanity, but they're never entirely like anyone else.' She was wearing a white tank top, with bare arms, and she held up them to the camera. Even this distorted fuzzy image could give a clear picture at what happened next.

Starting at the tips of her fingers, were swirling patterns that curled around her hands, tendrils passing down past her wrists, elbows, shoulder, across her chest and then either disappearing down onto her top or gliding up, covering her face. The colours mixed and danced with the background, the patterns getting bigger and bigger until they covered her whole body, blending into the background, until she disappeared from Mac's vision altogether. He whirled around to face Gabriel, his tri coloured eyes turning a grey the colour of storm clouds. 'What the hell is this?' he growled, electricity fizzling as he advanced upon the taller man, seeming to grow until he towered over him. 'Why didn't she tell me?'

'Because she couldn't,' said Gabriel, keeping his voice low, steady, even. 'You wouldn't have understood, you _couldn't _possibly have understood back then.'

Mac glared daggers at him, before he turned back to the screen, as Claire blended back into vision, and all his anger dissipated, seemingly at the sight of his former wife. 'There is a war coming, Mac. You will once again have to fight, not for your country, but for your very existence. You will probably asking how I know this.' Something in the corner of the screen caught Mac's eye as a shadow appeared to glide across the screen. The shadow pulled a hood down and looked at Mac with piercing sapphire eyes, remaining silent. 'This is Maran. She can tell the future. She told us of a future where someone so terrible, even maniacs and serial killers would unite against her. Standing against her would be thirteen people. Ordinary people chosen by some higher power to do extraordinary things. You are the first. You must find the other twelve. One is Gabriel Grey. Another is Noah Bennet. I don't know the others, but there are paintings, painted by Issac Mendez. This is his loft, the paintings should still be there.' At this Mac glanced at Gabriel, and he nodded. 'Goodbye Mac.'

The tape fuzzed into static, and something ran down Mac's cheek. Bringing a hand up, he realised it was a tear. 'When was this filmed?' he asked quietly, his eyes searching the loft for paintings. He came across a sketch pad, abandoned under a table, and he began to flick through it. The first few paintings were familiar; they were the people he had seen in Gabriel's mind. He came to one, a young dark haired man in a beige trench coat, flying through the air. His bangs were in his face, but his expression was one of pure joy. The picture sent a shiver down Mac's back, and he had the feeling that this man, this flying man had started it all.

'Last year.'

'Sorry?'

'The tape. It was filmed last year.' Mac spun round to face him, his new found powers digging through Gabriel's mind for the truth, deflating as he came across iron barricades, impossible to break through.

'But, but Claire died in 9/11,' he said, feeling a stab in his chest as he remembered that day. It was a day the whole world was struggling to come to terms with, never mind people like Mac, people who had never even found a body…

'No she didn't,' he contradicted himself simply. 'She survived, and instead of coming home, she ran away to fight this war.'

'She just wanted to keep you safe.' Gabriel put his hand on Mac's shoulder, but he shrugged it off, and continued his earlier task.

Flicking on further through the book, he stopped, frozen in place. He had just turned past a page with someone- he assumed it was Gabriel- holding out a hand in friendship. Blue sparks danced on the palm of his hand, and as he flipped the page, he realised it was a picture of him, mirroring Gabriel's pose, only he was enveloped in the lightning, smiling out of the page. Glancing at Gabriel again, he caught the ghost of a smirk as he looked around the loft, seemingly watching something. He shrugged and turned back to the book. Turning the page again, he didn't think he could be any more shocked than after the tape, but he was. Flipping over the pages furiously, he realised there were thirteen in all, counting him and Gabriel. And he would never have expected this.

Stella, in the middle of a desert, a phantom clock sketched into the background. Danny, his bespectacled employee seemed to be writhing on the floor, his hands and feet paw-like, his eyes yellow with slitted pupils. Flack, red slashes covering his face, arms and bare chest. Adam, his arms over his head, standing in an empty street, cars floating a foot from the floor. Hawkes, a paintbrush in his hand, his eyes filmed over, milky.

He turned another page, and was confronted with strangers. A black man, a pair of pure white wings spread out from his shoulder blade. He looked angelic, that was the only word Mac could come up with. A younger man with dark hair, flames licking one hand, a ball of water hovering above the other. In the background a tornado raged and on the ground there were cracks, gaping chasms. A young kid, spiky blond hair sticking up in all directions, appeared to be running on a clear reflective surface. Water, possibly, he mused. A older detective, his hairline receding, punching his way through a brick wall. An Asian guy, the palm of his hand on a computer screen, concentrating hard if the screwed up facial expression was anything to go by. The final picture was a man who had appeared earlier in the book, looking very dead. He was alive again apparently; his horn rimmed glasses intact once more. He stood on a skyscraper, most likely right here in New York City. Squinting at the picture, he realised the angle that was being painted, you could see right into the loft he was standing in now. Further squinting revealed two figures gathered around a miniscule book. The man with the horn rimmed glasses was watching them. Mac prowled around the loft, looking out every window at the nearby skyscrapers. He was so focused, he almost missed the telepathic message sent by Gabriel. '_Noah, you've been made, get of out here. Go to the lab, see what you can find out.'_

'Noah?' asked Mac, arching an eyebrow.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, matching his expression perfectly. 'Damn, you're good.'

'Yeah, I am. Now who's Noah? Is this him?' Mac held the sketchbook out, and Gabriel nodded. 'Bring him back to the loft. I want to meet him, before I decide if he's allowed anywhere near my lab.'

Gabriel rolled his eyes and nodded, before psychically shouting to Noah. '_You might as well just come here. He's stronger than we thought_.'

Mac heard the psychic equivalent of a nod, which really confused him. The n he realised there was one page left in the sketchbook. He turned it, and came face to face with something that chilled him to his very core. Blue eyes glared out of the page at him. The woman's lips were curled back, feral, she was raising her hands up, like Adam in his picture, only instead of cars, she had bodies. Five, unidentifiable bodies.

'Who, who is this?' he asked Gabriel, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking.

'That's the Hunter. She's the one who's going to end it all.'

---

So, what did people think? You like, or no?

Let me know!

Next chapter, back to Vegas, and we get another look at the Hunter's handiwork.


	7. Unannounced visitors

See, I'm trying to update more regularly. Tissue warning on this chapter, just for Courtney.

A/N: I don't know the layout of the crime lab that well, so I'm making it up.

A/N2: HRG is sooo OOC in this. I just couldn't get him right

A/N3: Last one, I promise. This takes place the night before the Mac chapters.

Thanks to my reviewers!

--

There was silence in the small office as everyone processed the information. In the quiet, Maran reached into her inside pocket again and brought out a handful of photocopied sketches. Going over to the desk, she spread them out. Some of them she didn't recognize, but five of them were in this room. Picking them up, she walked over to the people the sketches were of, and handed them a sketch. Three people had no sketches, and she surveyed them sadly. 'I'm sorry.' she said quietly.

'What for?' asked Sara, who had up until now been silent.

'You have to come with me. Now. You, you and you.' She pointed out three people, and gestured out of the door. 'The rest of you, go to New York. I don't care how, just go. Find a man called Noah Bennet. He is the only person you can trust, unless he says otherwise.' Four of them left, until only the people she had pointed at and one other remained.

'What's going to happen to you?' he asked.

'It's best that you do not kno-' she started, but he cut her off.

'No. I'm not leaving until you tell me.'

Maran gazed at him steadily, but his emerald eyes matched her blue ones evenly, until she dropped her gaze. 'We are dying, Warrick. You have to leave. You are one of the thirteen. Go.'

Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked at the people she had chosen. Grissom, Sara, and Catherine. Catherine. They had been through so much together, the past ten years nearly. They had survived a lot together. He had almost lost her once when she was abducted, and again when he was shot by the mole, but they had both survived, and kept living their lives, pretending that the other wasn't the most important thing on the world to them. He loved her, and he was sure she loved him, but they never acted on it. He could her blue eyes dry, no tears falling like from his, but looking deeper, he could see fear, not for herself but for him. Looking further he saw resignation, like she had known this was coming. And mixed through all the emotions, like oil in a puddle, was love. It was twined around her eyes, and he knew his expression mirrored hers.

He acted purely on impulse. He crossed the room swiftly and gathered Catherine in his strong arms, pressing soft lips to hers. He cradled her, lifting her from the floor, arms entwined around her waist, as if he could protect her from this. She slid her arms around his neck, returning the kiss and finally the tears fell, rolling down her cheeks, mingling with his. They shone in the light, and Maran's heart ached. How sad it was that two people proclaimed their love only seconds before one would inevitably perish.

They separated, resting their foreheads on each other, eyes closed. 'Be safe Warrick,' she said quietly. 'Keep the others safe.'

'I don't think I can do this without you.'

'You have to,' she whispered. 'Do it for me, and Sara, and Grissom. Do it for your son, so he has a safe place to grow up.'

He nodded, before releasing his grip on her. He kissed her once more, chastely.

He went to Sara and Grissom, whose hands were clasped tight together. He embraced Sara and shook Grissom's hand. Then he walked over to Maran, holding out his hand. They shook hands, and she apologized once again. 'If there was any way I could stop this, I would.'

'Then let me trade places with her,' he pleaded.

'I'm sorry. These events were set in motion decades before you were ever born, and there is no way to change them. If you die tonight, it's the end. There is no second chance.' Wind blew through the office suddenly, as if the door to the Crime Lab had been left open. Warrick could hear screams of people down the corridor. Maran's expression turned to one of panic. 'She's here. You must go now.' she cried, moving into an attack position. Warrick threw one last glance at Catherine, who had composed herself, and also assumed the attack pose, melting into invisibility. 'We'll hold her off,' screamed Maran as the wind howling became louder and louder. 'Be swift Warrick, go!' Warrick turned and ran, tearing out of the office and through the crime lab faster than he thought possible. Instead of taking the obvious way out, he turned left into Hodges lab. He thankfully was absent, and Warrick curled his shoulder and turned sideways, tensing himself. Running towards the large window in there, with a shattering of glass, he hurled himself through it, hitting the ground, rolling through the jarring impact of the fall. They were waiting for him there, the other four. Jim helped him up, no-one commenting on the tears still running down his face. 'Come on guys, we gotta get to New York.' Nick's Texan accent was broad with grief, making him almost impossible to understand.

'No.' said Warrick, his voice stronger than they would have thought, he was obviously grieving. 'I'm waiting, for them. They'll survive, they have to survive.'

Suddenly the air was filled with a shriek, an inhuman sound from inside the crime lab. It was followed by a bellow from Grissom. It sounded like Sara was dead, and moments later the bellow was abruptly quietened. There was just Catherine and Maran left. Another scream, an unfamiliar one that must be the last words of Maran. A woman they had just met. They didn't even know her full name. There was just Catherine. The sounds of fight ceased, and Warrick's hearing, which had been intensified since the appearance of his wings, along with his other senses picked up the sounds of footsteps following the path he had just taken, followed by a dragging sound. A woman appeared at the window he had just launched himself from. They could see she was dragging something behind her. She was wearing a long black coat, like the one Maran had been wearing. Under it was a pair of black dress pants, and a white blouse, spattered with blood. Her blue eyes were piercing enough to be seen from two floors up, and she lifted her arm up to show that she had been pulling Catherine around by her hair. Something deep inside Warrick snapped, and he ripped off the shirt he had yet to button, to release his wings. Flapping them powerfully, the others were almost blown away by the force of the wind pushing against them. He rose off the ground, his green eyes focused on one thing. Catherine's body. Suddenly, he was stopped by something grabbing his ankle; he glared down, kicking his leg, struggling to be free. Jim has an iron grip on him, pulling him slowly back to the ground. The woman laughs.

'See. You are weak Warrick Brown, and that is why Catherine is dead. You have failed her, and now you will fail everyone.' She held out a hand, and Warrick cried out and his wings sent pulses into his body. They turned coal black and started shriveling, fire shooting through his muscles, making him cramp and shake as his muscles clenched and twitched. He was falling into darkness, and as he sank further, he saw a jet of fire, orange light flaring up towards her. Caught by surprise, she disappeared, and Warrick sank into blissful unconsciousness, in which Catherine was still alive, and their world hadn't been turned upside down by these people, and their powers.

---

Sheldon Hawkes' eyes snapped open as he lay sprawled in bed, the covers tangled around his legs and pooled around his waist, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and bare chest. He was breathing heavily, gulping for air. He sat up, untangling himself as he went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.

He went into the living room, digging out his sketchpad. No one but a select few knew that the good doctor liked to draw, it was just something he did during his precious little free time. However, over the past couple of years, the things he'd been drawing had become, a little freaked out, to say the least. He'd been having really vivid dreams, and lately, the only way to move past them was to draw them. So he'd been drawing a variety of murder scenes, dead bodies, even lifestyle changes. And every single one of them had come true. He'd drawn the explosion that nearly claimed Flack's life, he'd drawn the warehouse Adam and Danny had been taken hostage at, he'd drawn Aiden, in the car, flames licking at her beautiful face. And now, the dream he'd just had, he drew that. A dark skinned man, wings bursting out of his back, writhing in agony, as another shot flames from his hands upwards towards a broken window. Standing in the window was a woman, and somehow Hawkes just knew she was evil, despite her human appearance, when the attackers clearly weren't.

Hawkes blinked, and realised that as he had been thinking, he had drawn out this scene exactly as it had looked in his mind. He shuddered at the soulless look on the woman's face. This couldn't possibly come true. Could it?

He jumped as there was a knock on the door, and turned towards it. Sliding his prophetic sketchpad under a cushion, obscuring it from view, he got up and looked through the peephole to see a man in horn rimmed glasses peering back at him. Opening the door, keeping it on the security chain, he looked out at the man. 'Who are you?' he asked, frowning in confusion. He looked vaguely familiar, but Hawkes couldn't put his finger on it.

'I need to talk to you. May I come in?'

'Why? I don't know you, do I?'

'No, but I know quite a bit about you, Sheldon.' The man smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of a hunter, cornering his prey. It was the smile of a man who has something to hide. 'I know you've been having dreams, and I know what's happening to you. I don't think you want to talk about it in the hallway, so let me in.'

Hawkes shut the door, and unlocked the security chain. He opened the door, but, instead of letting he man into his apartment, he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and twisted round, pushing him into the wall by Hawkes' apartment door. 'How do you know about that?' he growled, his face inches from the man's.

He seemed unflustered by the sudden attack, still smiling. 'Let me go, I'll tell you what you want to know.'

Reluctantly, Hawkes let him go, waving him into the apartment wearily. Normally he wouldn't have thought twice about letting a stranger into his apartment, the answer would have been no. He was a cop, he wasn't stupid. Rule one is don't let people into your house that you don't know, especially not at one in the morning. He followed him in, and found him sitting on the couch, flicking through the sketchpad he had hidden under the couch cushions. Every so often he stopped, smirking at the picture, until he reached one that wiped the smile off his face. The colour drained from his face, and a hollow look appeared in his eyes. Hawkes frowned again, and went over to the couch, looking over his shoulder at the image that had shaken the stranger so badly.

It was one of the first pictures he'd painted that scared him, and after painting this he hadn't gone near the pad for weeks, at least consciously. He'd repeatedly woken up to find a pencil in one hand and the book in the other.

It was a woman, the same woman he had painted tonight, he realised with a shudder, standing on a battlefield, surrounded by people, most of them complete strangers. It seemed random, there were men and women, black, white, Asian, adults and children. He zoomed in on one figure, and realised where he'd seen the man before. He was in this painting, and in one other. In this painting he was ready for war, a gun at his side, a fearsome expression on his face. The man ran a finger down the painting, caressing the face of a blond teenager, who was standing shoulder to shoulder with a blond man and a dark haired one with bangs falling in his face. A tear dripped onto the page, making the pastels run. It looked like the girl was crying.

'May I?' he asked politely, before taking the sketchpad out of the man's hands, and flipping to another page. In this the man was standing in between two other people, a man and a woman. The other man was tall and well built, with prominent eyebrows and slicked back hair. The woman was small, with blue eyes and dark hair. They both looked tired, but determined. Scrawled along the bottom in handwriting far from his usual neat writing, all in capitals, was _Maran, Noah and Gabe._ 'You're Noah?' Hawkes asked tentatively, and the man's head snapped round to look Hawkes in the eye with an unwavering stare. Hawkes met it and handed the pad over, open at the picture. He looked at it and smiled, only this time it was a genuine smile, a happy smile. He reached into his suit pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper, handing it over to Hawkes.

'Are you going to tell me what's going on? Or just keep being cryptic and handing me bits of paper?' Hawkes asked, taking the paper and unfolding it, finding a list on it.

Gilbert Grissom

Catherine Willows

Nicholas Stokes

Warrick Brown

Gregory Sanders

Sara Sidle

James Brass

Archie Johnson

Maclaren Taylor

Stella Bonasera

Daniel Messer

Lindsay Monroe

Donald Flack Jr.

Sheldon Hawkes

Adam Ross

Courtney Hunter

Maran St John

'Wait, what's this? Why is my name on it?' Hawkes asked, looking up from the list.

'Sheldon Hawkes, you are on the list.'

--

OK, I know it's cheesy, but I just wanted to say it, so there –sticks tongue out-

Hope you enjoyed that!

Next chapter, the guys arrive in New York, armed with only a name. Does Noah want to be found?


	8. Running away

Thanks for all the reviews guys!

A quick note, Greg's super speed is… different, shall we say? Instead of running at super speed, he kinda just steps out of time, and runs at normal speed. It's hard to explain. Any questions, just ask.

Another note, this is happening at the same time as last chapter with Hawkes. Ish

--

As he awoke slowly, Warrick was aware of the sensation of being jogged up and down. As more and more of his brain fought sluggishly back from the dark, he realised he was being carried. Cracking one eyelid open, he looked up into the face of Jim Brass. 'Hey man,' he croaked, his voice raspy.

Jim glanced down, smiling as he saw Warrick's green eyes. 'Welcome back.' He said, shifting his grip on the bigger man slightly. Warrick looked around, and was confused to see the world flashing past, faster than it should. Then he saw the hand on Jim's shoulder. The hand belonged to Greg, he looked further and saw a grim faced Nick hanging onto Greg's other hand as they ran, with Archie's hand clamped to his shoulder.

'Where's, where's Catherine and the other guys?' he asked groggily, and watched Jim and Nick share a look, one that spoke volumes as what happened at the Crime Lab came flooding back to him, and he curled up as the grief hit him. Catherine was gone, and so were Sara and Grissom. 'They're gone, aren't they?' he asked, as he watched a tear slide down Nick's face. Jim's eyes were dry, but Warrick knew that he was torn up inside. He'd known Grissom longer that Warrick had known Nick, and it had to be hurting, to have one of his closest friends killed practically in front of them. God knows it was hurting to have seen Catherine's body paraded in front of them like that. 'Hey Jim, you can put me down now. Where are we?'

In front of them, Greg slowed to a halt and bent over, hands of his knees, breathing heavily. 'Ohio, I think,' he gasped between breaths

'And how long have I been out?'

'Uh, about two hours I think,' said Nick, checking his watch.

'Hey, water boy,' said Greg, standing up. 'I'm dying over here. You fancy doing your thing?'

Nick rolled his eyes and took the empty water bottle from Greg's outstretched hand and concentrated. Moments later the bottle was full of cool water. Greg grinned and took it, draining it almost immediately and handing it back, with another, equally wide grin, his eyes sparkling. Nick rolled his eyes, before shutting them and willing the water back into the bottle. Warrick suddenly became aware of a burning sensation in his shoulders, continuing down into his furled wings. Struggling to twist around to see them, he tried to open them, and it was like being stabbed with skewers in every joint in his shoulder and wing. His back arched, and he cried out, sinking to his knees, grasping for his wings.

The other three turned, breaking off their conversation. Nick gasped and rushed to his friend's side. Greg looked frozen in place, and Jim's eyes just sank, his whole body deflated. He looked like a man who had given up.

'Rick, your, your wings, man,' said Nick, his sentences disjointed, his Texan accent rearing its head again.

'What about them?' groaned Warrick. The pain seemed to have subsided for now, and he gingerly climbed to his feet. He was more careful twisting his neck this time, but soon wished he hadn't. His wings, once magnificent and white, the wing span over three metres, had turned black and shriveled, like they were dying. He touched the edge of one gently, and a feather crumbled away. They were less than a metre across now, and it was easy for him to slip Nick's jacket on over his wife-beater, and the wings were hidden from view.

'Oh Warrick…' sighed Nick, pulling his best friend into a hug.

--

Seeing Warrick's wings like that, made Greg realize how easy it was to take these gifts away. One trip while running at that speed could shatter his knee, and he might never walk again, much less run at super speed. Warrick had lost so much today, they all had. They had lost a boss, a friend, and in Warrick's case, a love. Warrick didn't know it, but he hadn't been the only one to stay behind to find out the reason, and he had seen him and Catherine saying goodbye. It had just about broken his heart.

He slumped to the ground, still breathing heavily. 'Guys, don't think we're getting to New York tonight. Sorry,' he panted. His muscles were burning, and his lungs were screaming for oxygen. He wouldn't be able to run again tonight.

'That's OK; we can run at normal speed for a while.' Jim stretched his arms, cracking all his joints, before bending down and picking Greg up. He was smaller and lighter than Warrick, therefore less awkward to carry, although weight wasn't a problem for Jim. Nick swung his arms, releasing tension from his muscles before looking over at Warrick. Physically he seemed fine when his wings were covered, but there was a hollow look in his eyes, like he didn't care what happened. 'Ready to go, you guys?' Jim asked, and with a nod he set off, running gently through the streets of Cincinnati.

--

Entering New York, Archie was amazed at the busy city. A Vegas native, he knew that Sin City could be busy, but this was amazing. Lights flashed, horns blared, people lived. It was four in the morning, and the city was just existing, as if no one had told the inhabitants it was night.

Jim slowed to a walk, lowering a recovered Greg to his feet. They ambled slowly trough the city, staring in wonder. The only one not in awe was Greg. He had grown up in this city, and it gave him a feeling of being home. He wondered what Don Flack was doing now. He remembered his wanting to go straight into the academy, to be like his father. Personally, Greg thought Flack senior was an ass, but Don idolized him, and Greg kept quiet.

They needed somewhere to stay, and the city had changed a lot in fifteen years. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Don's old house number from memory. It was a long shot, but he didn't care. It rang and rang, and just as Greg went to hang up, someone answered. 'Hello?' It was an older woman, her Queens accent still as broad as the last time Greg had seen her.

'Patricia Flack?' he asked.

'Who is this?' The tone had changed, became more defensive.

'It's Greg Sanders. I'm an old friend of your son's, you probably won't remember me.'

'Of course I remember you,' she said suddenly. 'Little Greg Sanders, you lived across the street from us. You and Don were inseparable. What are you doing back in town?'

'I needed help, and didn't know where else to go,' he admitted. He suddenly became hyper aware of being watched by his friends. 'Do you have a number for Don?' he asked, turning his back to the group.

'Well sure,' Greg fumbled in his pocket for a pen and wrote Don's cell number on his hand clumsily.

'Thanks, Mrs Flack,' he said, suddenly feeling six years old again.

'Call me Pat, and don't be a stranger, OK honey?'

'Yeah,' he smiled. It was like being back at home again. 'Bye Pat.'

There was a click as she hung up, and he turned back round to his friends. 'Nick, can I have some light?'

Nick snapped his fingers, and a small flame sprung to life in his palm. Greg used the light to dial Don's number. He answered it almost immediately, sounding more than a little breathless. 'Who is this?'

'It's Greg. Remember me?'

'Yeah, sure I do. How ya doin', Greggo?'

'Coping,' he answered, and Don laughed.

'Aren't we all?' he said, and then swore as Greg heard gunshots on the other end of the phone.

'Don?' he said, panic bubbling in his chest as he heard nothing. 'Don?' he tried again, his voice growing louder.

'Greg?' he heard a groan from the other end of the phone.

'Yeah, I'm here Don. What happened?'

'They shot me in the chest. And my partner's down. I can hear them looking for me, I don't think they were aiming for me, more a lucky shot.'

Greg heard more voices, getting louder, until one grew loud enough for him to make out the words. 'It's just a pig, fellas. I'll get rid of him, you find the other.' He heard Don trying to talk to them, gurgling slightly as he bled onto the street. Then he heard a final gunshot, erupting from the phone as if he had been standing next to the shooter. 'Don!' he cried into the phone, as he felt a panic attack coming on. He got them occasionally, ever since the explosion.

'Sorry, Don's not here right now.' said a voice into the phone. It was definitely Irish. 'Mr Wilder got plans for him. And these plans don't involve living.'

--

OK, I'm too happy with this chapter, Greg seems weird, but y'know, it'll do.

Points for people who know about Mr Wilder, and can name the episode I'm vaguely referencing.

Three chapters in two days, I'm spoiling you guys.


	9. Man down

Thanks for the reviews guy. The muse is really going with me on this one, hence the updates! Lucky you!

--

Don Flack was pissed. Actually, he was worse than pissed. He was cold, tired and really pissed. AND he was supposed to be at home, watching the Rangers game. Instead, he was on a raid with a guy whose partner had called in sick. Vincenzi, the guy he was on the raid with, seemed basically a good guy, but god he could talk the hind legs off a donkey. In the half an hour journey it took to get to the warehouse, he had covered baseball, hockey, basketball, his wife and children, background on the Wilder Gang, and the personal experience he had with both the department and this particular case. Flack was about ready to hand himself over to the Wilder Gang by the time they reached their location. Instead, he smiled, nodded, and tried to tune out the chatter as best he could while removing his jacket and putting on the bulletproof vest. He had his usual raid gear on, his favourite jeans, a soft black sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a Ranger's ball cap on backwards, so the brim didn't get in the way.

Heading silently into the warehouse, he gestured with his hand to send Vincenzi the other way. Skulking around the back of the warehouse, he raised his gun as he heard conversation. Slipping into a side door, slid into an alcove, and jumped as someone ran past, followed by Vincenzi crying 'NYPD!' Naturally, he gave chase, his sneakers slapping down on the concrete floor as he skidded round a corner, picking up speed as he chased the perp down the deserted dirt road just out of state. They came to a half built housing estate, and the suspect dodged inside, using his momentum to half climb, half jump over the temporary fence, followed suit by Vincenzi. Flack, already bored of the chase barreled straight through the flimsy chain link, and continued on his way, shaking off remnants of the fence like raindrops. Slowing to a halt, he ducked into a half finished house, catching his breath. He knew that the mystery man was near, as was Vincenzi.

Suddenly, he heard a yell and a thud, then the sound of someone having the wind knocked out of them. Venturing out of the house, he edged forward. His night vision had finally kicked in, and he scanned around for the cause of the noise. He leapt backwards as someone came lunging out of the darkness at him, but the shadow missed and fell on its face. _No wonder,_ he thought. _It's handcuffed. '_Nice one Vincenzi,' he called into the darkness, grinning as Vincenzi appeared from around a corner, a split lip but otherwise OK.

'That's just how I roll,' he laughed, his New York accent dulled, but not gone. He had just returned from Italy, where he had been building bridges between international police forces. He hauled the handcuffed man to his feet roughly, tugging his towards the car. Flack felt his cell vibrate in his pocket. 'You go on, I'll be there in a second,' he said, flipping it open. UNKNOWN NUMBER was on the screen, and he answered it, gulping in air. 'Who is this?

A familiar voice trickled out of the handset. 'It's Greg. Remember me?'

Flack smiled. How long had it been? 'Yeah, sure I do. How ya doin', Greggo?'

'Coping,' he answered, and Don laughed.

'Aren't we all?' Out of the darkness, he heard gunshots, and he ducked, swearing loudly. Something slammed into his chest, just above the vest, and he flew backwards, hitting the ground heavily. His cell flew out of his hand, and his gun skittered in the opposite direction. He could hear Greg's anxious voice on the other end of the cell, and with an effort, he crawled over to his gun, and then to his phone, leaving smears of blood behind. In the distance he heard more gunshots, and Vincenzi screaming in pain, before there was another shot, and he was silenced.

'Don?'

'Greg?' he groaned as a stab of pain rippled through his wound. He was losing too much blood too fast.

'Yeah, I'm here Don. What happened?' The poor kid was terrified. He'd probably never heard a gunshot before.

'They shot me in the chest. And my partner's down. I can hear them looking for me, I don't think they were aiming for me, more a lucky shot.' He could hear the footsteps getting closer, and he fired his gun blindly. He was in trouble here, the edges of his vision were graying and he was lightheaded. A man rounded the corner, a 50 caliber Desert Eagle in his hand. He looked at Flack, then saw the vest and aimed the gun at him, moving closer.

'Come on man, you don't wanna do this. You what happens to cop killers? They get the death penalty. Immediately.'

Only if they get caught,' The man had a thick Irish brogue, and a dark, animal like smile.

'What's goin on Connor?' Another voice, this time from far away.

Connor turned and shouted back. 'It's just a pig, fellas. I'll get rid of him, you find the other.' He put the gun to Flack's head. He closed his eyes. This was happening; there was nothing he could do to stop it. He breathed in, and held his breath as Conner pulled the trigger.

--

Conner stepped over the body and picked up the buzzing cell. Someone on the other end was screaming for Don. That must be the dead pig. 'Sorry, Don's not here right now,' he said into the phone. 'Mr Wilder got plans for him. And these plans don't involve living.'

Then he hung up, tossing the phone onto the body's chest, leaving it there.

--

Adam was bored. He hated the night shift. New York City crazies were all asleep, and he was sitting at his workstation, playing with a bag of jellybeans. Making sure Mac was nowhere to be found, he picked one up, a green one, for some reason, and, resting it in the open palm of his hand, closed his eyes and focused.

Opening his eyes slowly, one at a time, he grinned. Floating about six inches above his hand was the jellybean. 'Cooooooool,' he said, focusing on making it move. Within a couple of minutes, it was whizzing around the room like a tiny jellybean fighter jet. He heard someone behind him clear their throat and he flinched, and, as he lost concentration, the jellybean fell out of the sky, landing on the keyboard with a clatter.

Turning around, he relaxed slightly as he saw his partner in crime, Stella, standing behind him.

--

Two weeks ago they had both discovered that they weren't exactly… ordinary. Stella had awoken one morning to find a frozen city, forever ten past six. She had turned the time back on, somehow, and gone about her business, hiding her secret from the world until one day she had walked in on Adam doing his jellybean trick, and they had opened up to each other. Stella had told Adam about stopping time, and he showed her his telekinetic ability. On the sly, he had used the NYPD database, looking for any sign that this kind of thing had happened to other people, the only thing he could find was a cop in LA who had claimed to read minds. This same cop had later disappeared for two months and reappeared in New York, becoming a Detective for the NYPD. He had a squeaky clean career, up until about a year ago, in which he disappeared again, to turn up…

Nowhere. Matt Parkman had just disappeared completely. No transfer info, no death certificate, no missing person's filed. Just the end of the file.

Searching deeper, he found a book called Activating Evolution, by a scientist named Chandra Suresh. Putting him into the database, he found a death certificate dated three or four years back. Adam devoured the book in a week, relaying his discoveries back to Stella. He learnt that it was pure chance that he had ended up with telekinesis, and that Stella had ended up with the ability to manipulate time and space. Even rarer that they had both received powers, two people living in such close proximity to each other. It was practically unheard of.

They both kept their powers secret from everyone apart from the other. They didn't want anyone to know. Until Adam was visited by a man in horn rimmed glasses.

--

_It was late one night, and Adam was playing Guitar Hero during a sudden bout of insomnia when he heard a knock at the door. Opening it, he came face to face with a man, wearing an expensive looking suit and horn rimmed glasses. He had invited himself in, and proceeded to explain what was happening to Adam, and then at the end, asked him to join a war._

'_We need your help Adam. There is a war coming, and you are part of it. Quite an important part. You are one of the new generation.'_

_Adam was stunned. He'd never felt like this before, never felt important enough to be needed. 'What happens if I refuse?' he'd asked, although he had no intention of refusing._

'_Then we fall, and The Hunter takes control. You and twelve others are the dawn of a new age, and without you, it cannot be done.'_

'_Then I'll do it.' he said, grinning despite himself._

_--_

Later the next morning, he'd discovered that Stella had had a similar call the night before last. And she had joined as well. Then they realised, neither of them knew his name. From then on they just referenced him as the man with the horn rimmed glasses, HRG for short.

--

'What?' he asked defensively, looking around him. 'No-one's watching. Just you, me and the candy.'

'That's not the point,' Stella said, pulling up a chair. 'HRG told me that we don't know when this hunter is coming, we should be careful using our powers. If she sees them, she will kill you if she thinks you're in her way.'

--

Hope people liked that, next up, the guys from Vegas rush to find Flack. But there's something they don't know…


	10. Life, love, relationships

Thanks for the reviews guys, and sticking with me while I layed the groundwork for this fic. We will be getting into the important stuff either this chapter or next.

Now then, against my better judgement, and to apologise for killing Mary, there is a pairing in this chapter that I REALLY don't like, so I'm apologizing to everyone else reading this.

There is also an M rated bit in this chapter, I'll mark it, so if you don't want to read it you can skip.

--

The phone clicked as the stranger hung up, leaving the gunshots ringing in their ears and shock written clearly on their faces.

'We gotta do something.' Archie was the first to respond, although he still looked startled. He never left the lab on cases, and this was his first experience with proper violence, that could easily get him killed.

'Like what?' Greg said dully. 'He's dead. There's nothing we can do.'

'We can find his body; give him a cop's burial.' Jim chipped in. He'd seen a lot of cops die in his time, and he'd brought every single one home. He was damned if this one was going to rot in an alleyway.

'How are we gonna do that?' asked Nick, his hand on Greg's shoulder. Warrick remained silent, watching the other four converse. They were already forming a team, he realised, like the team that had been destroyed in Vegas.

'Like this,' Archie grinned, and pulled his PDA out of his pocket and touched a finger to the screen, closing his eyes in concentration. Suddenly, his screen lit up with a map of New York, a pulsing red dot where they were standing, and a pulsing blue dot about a mile or so away that must be Don on the screen. 'Looks like he's in a building site,' said Archie, retrieving his cell from his pocket and accessing the internet. Pages flashed past as he located blue prints for the buildings. 'Yeah, it's owned by Butler and Wilson Inc, looks pretty easy to get into, although I have no idea what two cops were doing in there at four in the morning. So, how are we going to do this?'

'I figured we find the body, call 911 anonymously and leave, find this Noah Bennet guy. How are you doing that by the way?' asked Nick, tugging his ball cap off and scratching the back of his neck. He replaced it back to front.

'The GPS locator in Don's phone. It just connected it to my PDA, and it'll follow the phone, even if it's switched off, or dead.'

'Neat trick,' said Greg. 'Shall we?'

'Yeah, but Greg?' Archie tapped him on the shoulder. 'Can we go at normal speed this time? The body isn't going anywhere.'

--

Danny wrinkled his nose. Something smelled good. He cracked one eyelid open and smiled at the sight. His bed had a view right through the apartment to the kitchen, and through the open door he could see her wearing his shirt and cooking breakfast. She was humming along to some song, one he didn't recognize. Taylor someone or other? Sliding out of bed, he pulled on a pair of jeans and his discarded wife beater, before padding silently out of the room into the main room, and around the sofa towards the kitchen. He snaked an arm around her and kissed the side of her neck gently. 'Mornin',' he muttered, kissing down her neck towards her shoulder.

'Good morning. You know, you keep doing that, and breakfast will get burned,' she said, leaning into his embrace.

**MRATINGMRATINGMRATING**

'Screw breakfast,' he countered, turning her around and covering her lips in a passionate kiss that had them both gasping for breath. He caressed her curves, remembering how she had felt last night as he ran his hands over her body, making her writhe and moan underneath him. She brought her hands up, fisting them in his hair and yanking him back down for another kiss. They started edging towards the bedroom again, Danny slowly unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off her small, tanned shoulders, realizing with a thrill she was wearing nothing underneath it. She fumbled with the button on his jeans, finally undoing the zipper and slipping a hand down, cupping his ass. He grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her up, slamming her against the wall by his bedroom as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning as he entered her suddenly. He started an even rhythm, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder, leaving small, even bite marks. He cried out her name as he came, taking her over with him. She shuddered as an orgasm ripped through her, leaving her weak but sated, and her legs trembled as he lowered her to the ground gently.

**MRATINGOVERMRATINGOVER**

After they'd recovered, they dressed quickly and she tried to salvage breakfast. He was unlocking the gun safe that he kept his firearm in when he heard the doorbell. 'I'll get it,' she called.

He heard the door open and he heard voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. 'Danny!' she shouted, and he came to the door. Standing there was a young woman, maybe twenty five. She had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. A whisper ran through Danny's gut, and he had a bad feeling about this woman. She turned her gaze to Danny, and what he saw in those cobalt orbs terrified him.

'Do I know you?' he asked, but it was Lindsay who answered.

'She an old friend of mine, she's looking for someone in New York, I said I would help. Don't you have to go to work?'

'Uhh, yeah, I do. You sure you're OK?'

'Danny, I'm fine. Go on, go, you'll be late.' She kissed him quickly on the lips, and he slid past the woman in the doorway.

'Nice meetin' ya,' he said, holding out his hand, but she ignored him, continuing to watch Lindsay. Danny raised an eyebrow and left, jogging down the corridor to catch the closing elevator at the end of the hall.

--

Greg, Archie, Jim, Nick and Warrick ran through the city, drawing looks from people as they passed, too focused on their destination to see or care. They reached the building site and decided to split up. Jim would go with Archie and Nick with Warrick, Greg was fast enough to dodge bullets, so he'd be fine on his own. They were to call if they found Don's body.

Nick and Warrick were breathing heavily as they stole through the empty, half built houses. Nick glanced in one house and saw a shadow on the floor. They entered the house and found a tall, dark haired man sprawled on the floor. His chest was moving slowly up and down. Nick conjured a small flame to look at his face, and gasped when he saw the bullet hole dead centre between the eyes. How was he still breathing?

'Don?' tried Nick. 'Don Flack?'

The man groaned, and opened one eye, blinking at them blearily. 'Who 'r' you?' he mumbled, trying to sitting up.

'I'm Nick Stokes, this is Warrick Brown. We're friends of Greg.'

'Greg. Is he here?' His voice was getting stronger, and he propped himself up on his elbows. Nick and Warrick watched in horror as the bullet wormed its way out of his head, dropping onto his shirt and the hole sealing up after it.

Warrick was the first to recover. 'Yeah, he's here.' He pulled out his cell and speed dialed Greg's number. 'Greg? We found him. You're not gonna believe this.' Nick stood and went outside, conjuring water in one hand and fire in the other, combining them to make some sort of warm, glowing liquid, pointing his joined hands upward, he closed his eyes and fired it into the sky. It sprinkled back to Earth, showering him. Warrick, who had stayed inside with Don was still dry. 'Follow the beam of light, Greg, it's Nicky.'

Mere seconds later, Greg blurred into the house, screeching to a halt beside his friends. He held out a hand to Don, who took it gratefully, heaving him to his feet. He looked mournfully down at his shirt. 'This was expensive,' he pouted, and Warrick laughed deeply.

'At least you're alive buddy.'

Don grinned. 'Yeah, there is that. Don Flack Junior.' He held out a hand and Warrick took it, smiling for the first time since Catherine.

'Nice to meet you. So, anyone feel like explaining what just happened? I survived being shot, Greg here blurs apparently, and your light show buddy out there. What can you do, fly?' Said as a joke, Don didn't realise how close he actually was to the truth.

--

Next chapter should be up ASAP!

Please review!


	11. Lost and found

Sorry it took me a while to get this chapter up; I kinda got sidetracked by Supernatural. Blame Courtney.

I considered adding Angell in, but I think there are just too many chapters as there is. Also, Mary, don't hate me for this chapter.

Also (I know, I know), Flack is a little OOC in the chapter. I tried to get my point across, he was the best person for it, and I screwed him up. Sorry about that.

--

Mac looked back down at the drawing, and back up at Gabriel, hiding a flinch when he saw the man with the horn rimmed glasses standing at Gabriel's shoulder. He whispered something in his ear, they were too far away for Mac to overhear though, and his lip reading sucked.

Noah approached him, unsmiling. 'Maclaren,' he said, by way of greeting.

'Mac,' he corrected, holding out a hand. Noah took it, his lips flickering upwards into what must pass for a smile these days. 'So,' he added, as Noah seemed unwilling to say anything more. 'What can you do?' he asked, conversationally, withdrawing his hand and sticking it in his pocket.

'I can stay alive.'

Mac looked at him, confused. _Wrong question,_ he thought suddenly, but it wasn't his thought, it had an underlying sound of ticking clocks, and a darkness he didn't know he had. He glanced over at Gabriel, who was paying no attention to the exchange, instead choosing to flick through the earlier sketches, stopping on a blonde woman Mac recognized from Gabriel's memory.

'Let me rephrase. What ability do you have?'

'None,' he replied, watching Mac intently. Mac shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable.

'Really? None at all?' Mac was curious now. Gabriel seemed like a person that cut off any loose weight. What good was Noah if he didn't have a power?

'Hey, Taylor?' he looked around again as Gabriel lifted up a sheet of paper that must have fallen out of the book when he lifted it the first time. 'You know her?' He held it out, face up.

On the sheet of paper was someone he knew all too well. Her sandy hair was cut in a bob, and her brown eyes stared out of the page at him. The only thing out of place was the bullet hole in her forehead, one drop of blood worming its way down her face. In the background was a shady figure, Mac couldn't see their face, or if it was even a man or a woman. All he could see was a pair of sparkling blue eyes and a smoking gun.

'Oh god,' he breathed, clenching the piece of paper so hard he crumpled it, tearing it along the creases. _Lindsay._ 'When does this happen?' he demanded, waving the sheet in Gabriel's face.

'If it's happening, it's happening today. Today is when it all goes down.' Man turned back to Noah, who hadn't moved. That had been the most he'd heard him speak since they'd met. Then he realised he was holding a folder. He opened it, showing Mac the photos inside. He flicked past some photos, before picking out a handful, spreading them out over the desk. Mac recognized Stella, Adam, Hawkes, Flack, himself, and there were five other strangers. On another table he spread out five other photos, one set a little way apart from the rest. Lindsay, and four strangers, although he vaguely recognized the older man in them, from forensics conferences. His name was… Grissom, Mac thought, an entomologist from Vegas. Mac never forgot a face. The rest were all women, a blonde and two brunettes. There was one last photo in the folder, and Noah pulled it out, holding it up. 'We need to find this man, and we need to find him quickly. Before she gets to him.'

'The Hunter?' Noah nodded.

'What will she do to him?' Mac said, ignoring the photo for now.

'That depends.'

'On?'

'On what he can do.' Mac looked at the photo properly and smiled in relief. It was Danny. Someone he knew, he could be easy to find, Mac had seen him only an hour ago at the lab.

'He's at the crime lab, I'm his boss.'

'Then let's go,' Gabriel said, grabbing his backpack and setting off, Noah following close behind.

'No, you can't have his brain. I don't care how interesting it is. No, he might need it later on…' Mac listened to Noah's side of the conversation, for such a big man, Gabriel was surprisingly soft spoken, and he couldn't pick up his voice at all. It was a little unsettling, Mac had the disturbing impression they were talking about him. He shook his head, convinced he was being paranoid and followed them out of the loft, keeping one eye on where he was going, and one eye on Noah. There was something odd about him, and Mac was going to be watching him.

--

'This was my favourite shirt, and now there's blood on it,' Flack moaned. 'I hate my job sometimes.'

'Oh stop bitching, Will,' quipped Greg, as they all trudged back to the city. The others all looked at him, confused, and he continued, sighing. 'As in '…and Grace'?'

Warrick chuckled gently, wincing when the movement tugged on his wings.

'You OK, buddy?' Flack asked, putting a hand on his shoulder, resting it on the joint where his wings joined his shoulders.

'You got shot, and you're asking me if I'm OK?' Flack nodded. 'Wow. Yeah, I'm fine, bad night.'

'Couldn't be worse than mine. Feel like talking? I know an out of the way bar near here. Only, I need to stop off at mine first. Dried blood tends to draw attention.'

They all trooped into Flack's apartment, and he disappeared into the bedroom, tell them to help themselves to stuff from the fridge. Greg dived in, emerging with chocolate and a bottle of water. Jim and Nick had nothing, and Archie took an apple from the bowl on the side, retiring to the elegant leather couch and flopping on it. Warrick excused himself and went to stand on the balcony, wanting to be alone. He heard the door open behind him, and Flack joined him outside, after having changed into a dark button up shirt. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke, his rough accent loud in the night. 'I called a friend of mine. You're obviously in pain, I want to help.'

Below them were the small sounds of the city waking up, and Warrick stared down at them before answering. 'Well, normally I would be worried about whether or not you would believe me or judge me, but after your experience tonight, I guess it's safe.' He unzipped his CSI jacket and slipped it off; turning around so Flack could see his shriveled and damaged wings. Credit to him, he didn't say anything, just ran one hand tenderly down a damaged feather, crumbling as if it was made of ash. 'I don't think your friend can help.' Warrick said, turning back around and putting the jacket back on.

'You haven't met Hawkes. Smarter than the rest of us schmucks put together. Come back inside, they're worried about you.' He punched the older man in the arm gently. Warrick smiled and nudged him back, before ducking back inside the spacious, warm apartment. Sprawled over various pieces of furniture, the remainder of the Vegas night shift crime lab had made themselves comfortable. Archie and Jim had commandeered the couch, Jim flicking through the TV channels. Nick was sprawled on the floor, laughing at something Archie had just said. Greg was curled up in an armchair, fast asleep. They guy was exhausted, he deserved a little down time. The rest of them sat and talked quietly, Flack handing round beers every so often, until there was a quiet, reserved knock at the door. Flack jumped up and went to answer it, apologizing as a tall, dark skinned man walked in. 'Sorry about calling you so early Doc,' he said, leading him through into the main room.

'Nah, I was up already-' he started to say, freezing as he entered the room seeing five strangers all over the room. 'No way,' he whispered, pulling a small book out of his pocket, flipping through it, stopping on a page. He looked up from it to Warrick, then down at the book, then up to Nick, a frown furrowing his brow. 'Stokes?' he asked tentatively, and Nick's head snapped up from where he had been nodding off.

'That's me,' he drawled. 'I'm Nick. Who're you?'

'Sheldon Hawkes, call me Hawkes.'

'Or Doc,' Flack piped up, taking a swig of beer.

Hawkes rolled his eyes, before snapping the book shut and looking around the room. 'Who's Warrick?'

'That'd be me,' Warrick raised his hand lazily. Hawkes regarded him with caution.

'You're the injured one?' he asked, skeptical. 'Where?'

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' replied Warrick, suddenly awake.

'Try me,' Hawkes retorted, slipping the book back in his pocket.

'His wings,' chirped Greg, making everyone jump, they had all thought, Hawkes included, he was fast asleep.

'OK,' said Hawkes, and Warrick stared at him. He was just going to accept this? 'Flack told me,' he said, by way of explanation. 'He's not the first New Yorker exhibiting weird skills. A friend of ours, Danny, he uh, I suppose the best word for it would be shape-shifts.'

'A shape-shifter?' asked Jim, who up until now had been silent.

'Uh-huh,' Hawkes nodded. 'We've been testing to see what his range is and it turns out just about anything, animal or human, although his preferred form is a huge wolf. Anyway, let's go into the bedroom, it'll be more private.'

Hawkes and Warrick went into Flack's bedroom, where Hawkes told him to remove all upper body clothing. He removed the jacket no problem, but the wife beater had to be cut off him, it tugged at his wing joints too much. He was examined carefully, poked and prodded from one wingtip to the other, but Dr Hawkes was surprisingly gentle, only causing a few jolts and twinges. After the examination, Flack put his head round the door with a freshly washed hoodie, knowing that Warrick was sick of wearing just a wife beater and a too small CSI jacket.

He turned to leave, but Hawkes stopped him, thoughtfully. You say that you were shot and you healed, yes?'

'From what I hear, yeah,' replied Flack, looking slightly uncomfortable.

'Hmm,' said Hawkes, deep in thought. 'Do you mind if I try an experiment?' he asked Warrick, who shrugged.

'Why not?' Can't do much more harm.'

Hawkes pulled a syringe out of his bag and approached Flack, who paled slightly. 'Oh don't be such a baby,' remonstrated Hawkes, grabbing his wrist and jabbing the syringe in at the elbow joint. He pulled a syringe full of blood out and turned to Warrick, who held his arm out silently, curious as to if this would work or not. He flinched as the needle broke the skin, massaging the area around it when he pulled the syringe out, tossing it back in his bag in a paper bag.

'So, how long will this take to work?' he asked, bending his arm up and down, shuddering as his wings started tingling. If the looks on the New Yorkers faces were anything to go by, something was happening, but was it good or bad?

--

Slightly longer than I meant it to be, but oh well. I'll try and update again soon.

Please review!


	12. The dawn begins to break

Hey, I've just realised how confusing this story is, jumping between two different times. Just to clarify, the bits with Mac, Danny and Lindsay are happening at the same time-ish, and the bits with everyone else are happening the night before.

I hope that's clear enough.

AN: OK, a competition! The first person to review who can name the quote from Heroes and the person who said it gets to decide the Hunter's fate. So review, give me your best guesses!

We finally get to the action in this chapter, I hope. Enjoy!

--

Mac, Noah and Gabe glided through the streets, seemingly invisible to everyone but themselves. Noah watched Mac slyly, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the steely determination that seemed ever present on the cop's face.

There was something about this man, this complete stranger. He saw something of himself in him; he was able to draw many parallels with his own life. Like Noah, Mac had lost his family, and like Noah, he had seemingly made a new one. He didn't know this, but Noah had been watching him since his arrival in New York two weeks ago. He'd seen the ins and outs of the dedicated ex-Marine's life. He'd seen the Greek woman, and the looks they'd given each other. He'd seen the blonde woman, and the fatherly feelings he had towards her, much the same as him and Claire. He'd seen his team, working together like his family had, until the end, and the young man, an outsider in a group of scientists. He was a dreamer, like Peter.

They turned the corner, coming face to face with the gargantuan metal exterior of the New York Crime Lab. A gunshot rang out, and all three dropped instinctively, both Mac and Noah drawing a weapon. They crept forward slowly, towards the lab, the direction which the sound had come from. Entering the lobby, all they could see was chaos. Sheldon Hawkes, the pre cog, ran towards them, bleeding slightly from a cut on his temple, his eyes red and watery. 'Mac, thank god, everyone's on the roof!'

'Everyone?'

'Yeah, ten of us, we just need you and Noah. But uh, Lindsay's, Lindsay's…' he trailed off; a tear escaped his eye, mingling with the blood on his cheek.

'Dead,' finished Gabe bluntly, eyes scanning the crowd. 'She's here?'

Sheldon looked at him, confused. 'Yeah, but how did you…'

'Because Lindsay was never the thirteenth,' answered Noah, holstering his weapon. It would do him no good here. Sheldon gaped at him. 'Gabriel is.'

'That would be me,' Gabe butted in. He had replaced his ball cap and his face was shrouded in shadow. Noah had known him long enough to know that he liked dramatic entrances, something they both had in common.

'OK, nice to meet you and all, but we need to get to the roof. Danny and 'Rick are holding her off, but I don't know how long they can keep her.'

''Rick?' asked Mac in an aside tone to Noah.

'Warrick Brown. Flier.'

'Flight. I haven't tried that yet,' muttered Gabe, but he was fixed by a dirty look from Noah.

'I warned you about this.'

'Yeah, I know, no brains. Jeez,' he moaned, scratching the back of his neck. 'A guy can't make a joke anymore.'

Sheldon watched the exchange with interest, until he heard a roar of pain from above them, but not a human voice. Danny. 'Guys, we _have _to go _now_!'

The four of them turned to the elevator, glancing at each other for possibly the last time as they advance on the opening, ready to face whatever came at them, up on the roof.

--

Lindsay watched the woman in the doorway, warily. 'Who are you, and what do you want?' she asked, her voice mercifully not cracking.

'I told you.' Her voice was high, almost musical. 'I'm looking for someone, and you can help me.'

'Who are you looking for?'

'You. Together, we're going to change history.'

'I don't think so.' She turned to go back into the apartment.

'But you haven't heard my plan yet. You have no idea how important you are in the bigger picture. You and your 'fiancée'.'

'Who? You mean Danny? He's not my fiancée.'

'Not yet. I can see your future, laid out in front of you. You and Danny, happily married, with a child. A girl. You call her… Lucy. If you help me. If not…'

'What?' Lindsay was scared but elated at the same time. This was everything she'd dreamed of. A family with Danny was all she ever wanted.

'It's the end of everything.'

Lindsay took her to the crime lab, under the guise of her best friend from Montana. And then it started. The end of the world erupted.

--

Danny was having a quiet day at work for once. He was sitting in the office he shared with Hawkes and Lindsay, doodling on a piece of scrap paper, waiting for Adam to page him with lab results. Suddenly he stopped, glancing around him to make sure no one was looking. He left a note in case anyone came to find him and crept up to the roof.

Flying was more elating than anything he'd ever done. It had cured his crippling insomnia when he was a child, soaring through Staten Island streets as a huge tawny owl, it made him feel better after a nasty case at work. Only one thing was better than flying. Running. Landing in an overgrown area of Central Park, he changed into a large white wolf and ran. The amazing thing about wolves was, if you paced yourself, you could run all day. So he just ran. Dancing around trees, dipping under branches and over roots, feeling _alive_.

After his unusual workout, he changed back into an own and flew back to the crime lab, making a perfect landing on the roof. For some unknown reason, his clothes changed with him, making it a lot less embarrassing when Stella caught him last night, preparing to fly home. It had been a long day and he couldn't be bothered with catching the subway. She had come onto the roof, he assumed to be alone, like he did, and found him, mid change.

He had freaked, tried to run away, but she had stopped him gently, and shown him something. She could manipulate time and space. Which, when he thought about it, wasn't as cool as being able to turn into an animal, but was still pretty awesome.

In time they had confided in Hawkes, the only one apart from Flack that Danny trusted explicitly.

They had met up with Adam, who had shown Danny his party trick, and then sworn him to secrecy, before bombarding him with questions, his childlike curiosity shining through. He was padding silently down the stair, back to his office, when he stopped, noticing a crowd of strangers in his office, surrounding Hawkes. One head stood above the rest, and Danny smiled, making his way over to his best friend.

'Hey Flack,' he said, conversationally, and he jerked, surprised. He whirled around, fear showing in his eyes, which relaxed when he saw it was only Danny.

'Hey Mess,' he said, sounding evasive and shifty.

'What's goin' on in here?'

'Nothin',' Flack muttered, looking at his feet. Danny looked around at the five other people in the office, five strangers. Hawkes met his gaze, looking at him curiously.

'Danny, your eye is the wrong colour…' Danny peered at his reflection in the computer monitor before blanching. He still had an amber eye, from being an owl.

'Yeah, uh, I can explain,' he started, when he noticed then all watching him. The youngest one, with spiky blonde hair and brown eyes was blurry. He blinked; there must be something wrong with his eyes. No, he was still blurry. He rubbed at his eyes, and looked again. There was no mistaking it, on closer inspection; he was vibrating, almost like a nervous tic. 'Is anyone else seeing this?' he demanded, glancing round.

'You wouldn't believe us if we told you why,' one man said, in a heavy Texan drawl.

'Join the club,' Danny, muttered, before turning away and leaving the office. 'I'm gonna see if Adam has my results yet.' But he was beaten to it, as Adam came rushing in, followed by Stella, who was holding a sheet of paper with a list on it, Danny wasn't close enough to see what the list was of though.

'We found it,' she exclaimed, handing it to Hawkes, who seemed to have taken the role of leader. Even Flack was deferring to him, and Flack deferred to no-one.

'Well, I can see you guys are busy, I'll come back later.' He walked off, and was just about to turn a corner when someone shouted his name.

Danny, wait!' he looked around to see Flack running after him, a huge grin on his face. 'You can stay, you're one of us.'

'Us?' Danny asked.

'You'll see, come on.'

They walked back to the office, where the strangers had spread themselves out, draped on tables and chairs, cabinets and even the windowsill.

'Danny Messer, meet Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, Jim Brass and Archie Johnson. Guys, meet Danny Messer.' They all shook hands, Danny still confused about what was going on.

'Anyone wanna enlighten me?' he asked, slumping against the wall, scratching his ear.

Everyone looked at each other, obviously not willing to start the conversation. Flack rolled his eyes and leaned over the desk, snagging a pair of scissors from Hawkes' side of the desk. Holding them so the point faced down, he held his arm out, shirt sleeve rolled up and sank the scissors into soft, tender flesh. Blood bubbled out of the gash, and Danny freaked. 'What the hell man?! Is this some sorta freaky suicide slash self harm cult?'

'Just watch,' Flack said through gritted teeth, watching the blood drop steadily onto the floor. Suddenly, the wound knitted together, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin. He wiped the blood off his hand and held the arm out to Danny for inspection.

'So, you guys can all do this? Wait, Stella, you can-'

'Uh-huh,' she interrupted.

'But, why us?'

'We're special,' she said simply, moving round to face everyone. 'I can stop time, Flack can heal, Hawkes can see the future, you can shape-shift. We're meant to do something. I don't know what, but I know that we're special. Us and three others.'

'But how can you know this?' Danny persisted.

'The man in the horn rimmed glasses told us,' said Jim Brass, a stocky, balding man with a serious face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, gesturing to the strangers.

'And us,' chimed in Adam, pointing at himself and Stella.

'Me as well,' said Hawkes. 'He gave me this.' He held up the list Danny had seen before, handing it over.

'I learned the hard way,' chuckled Flack. 'I got shot in the head last night, stone cold dead. Woke up with 'Rick in my face, lookin' all concerned.'

Danny skimmed through the list. 'There's people on here missing. Gilbert Grissom, Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, Maran St John, Gabriel Grey, Noah Bennet. Who are they?'

'Gil, Sara, Cat and Maran died last night, so we could escape alive. We were told to find Noah Bennet, but he found us. I don't know about the other.' This was the first time the quiet Asian man in the corner had spoken. He didn't raise his head, just staring at his shoes.

'Gabriel Grey…' said Hawkes, thoughtfully. He went to his desk, nudging Nick out of the way gently, rifling through a drawer, bringing out a battered sketchpad, flipping through the pages. He stopped, and turned the sketchbook so they could all see. Two men and a woman, one man tall and dark, the other with horn rimmed glasses, the woman small with brilliant azure eyes. 'I think Gabriel is him,' he said, pointing to the tall dark man. They couldn't see his face clearly, but he had slicked back hair and an aura of darkness, something that made the animal instincts inside Danny revert to fight or flight, in this case, flight.

Danny looked down at the list again, chewing his lip. 'Hey, Mac's on here as well. And Lindsay. But that makes fourteen. You said there was thirteen? So that means…'

Warrick spoke, for the first time, his deep voice quiet. 'Someone has to die, for us to save the world.'

--

Well, that ran on much longer than I thought, so I'll have the rest of this planned chapter in the next one. This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I think I might need at least 3 more, if not more than that. I hope you'll stick around for the ending, it's gonna be explosive! (metaphorically)


	13. The beginning of the end

Thanks for all the reviews for this, only a couple of chapters left!

--

Danny's breath caught in his throat, as the words hit him. _Someone has to die, for us to save the world, _but whom?

The elevator door dinged, and Lindsay walked out of it, flanked by the woman Danny had seen tonight. His animal side reared up against this intruder, and it took every ounce of willpower it took not to turn into a wolf and shred her to pieces. As it was, a growl burst out of his lips and he crouched into a defensive pose. The rest of the room turned to see what was causing this reaction, and saw only Lindsay and a petite woman was flowing dark hair and cobalt eyes.

'What's wrong Mess?' Flack asked, concerned for his friend.

'She, she smells wrong,' snarled Danny, his nose wrinkling. Flack had known Danny too long not to trust his instincts, animal or otherwise.

'Guys, I'm with Danny on this,' he said, joining his friend. He walked forward, his interview smile on his face, beaming at Lindsay and the newcomer. 'Mornin' Monroe. Who's your friend?'

'Oh, this is Courtney, she's come from Montana. I've known her since I was tiny.' She looked sideways at 'Courtney', and Flack saw a glimmer of something. Guilt? Resentment? Fear? 'She wanted to see where I worked, so I said I'd bring her to the lab. It's her first time in the City.'

'In that case, take her up to the roof; you can see the whole city from there.'

Lindsay smiled. 'Great idea Flack. I've got my pager if you need me,' she called over her shoulder as she and her friend headed back for the elevator. The door closed on them and Flack felt Danny relax behind him as the 'wrong smell' dissipated.

--

Lindsay rode the elevator up in silence, not even daring to look at the woman standing beside her. The stopped at the top floor and exited the elevator, taking a flight of steps to the roof. They stood on the edge, watching the world below carrying on without them. Lindsay was filled with an overwhelming desire to jump. What would happen if she did? There would be some mourning, an investigation, a funeral. But then, slowly, the world would begin to forget the country girl who threw herself from a fifty storey building. She couldn't decide whether that was good or bad, when she was interrupted from her thoughts by a voice beside her. 'You must kill the Prophet.'

'What?' she snapped, irritated at being disturbed until she realised who she was talking to.

'The fortune teller. He is the one standing between us and saving the world.'

'But I don't know who he is!' cried Lindsay, turning to face the woman who talked about death so casually.

'You call him Sheldon, I believe,' she remarked callously, her blue eyes scanning the skyline.

Lindsay did a double take. 'You want me to k, k,' she stumbled over the word. 'kill Hawkes?'

The Hunter grew impatient. 'Yes, you foolish girl, I want you to kill him. Why is that so hard for you to grasp?'

'But, but I can't,' she gasped.

'Why not?'

'He's my friend,' explained Lindsay, shocked.

I see,' said the Hunter coldly. 'And you value your friends above the man you love and your unborn child?'

'Of course not, but-' she started.

'Then what is the problem?' she asked.

Lindsay was silent. Something deep within her clicked and she suddenly realised that yes, this was the only way she could save Danny. Her love for him blinded her to the clever manipulation on the Hunter's part, and she pulled her cell out of her pocket, ready to dial Hawkes' number when he arrived on the roof, followed by Danny, Flack, Stella, Adam and a crowd of strangers, all gazing around in awe. 'More foreigners,' explained Flack, pointing out certain buildings to a tall, dark skinned man. Lindsay fingered her gun, her very soul fighting with her heart and her head, her soul telling her this was the right time, that she would never get another opportunity like this, her heart telling her that Hawkes was her friend, her head tell her that if she was gonna shoot him, to hurry up and do it. Her internal struggle was fierce, her being split into three, each fighting the other two viciously. But there could be only one victor, and it was with shaking hands that she raised the gun to shoot Hawkes, aiming for his heart.

There was a shout of warning from Stella, and every person on the roof turned to see Lindsay, tears flowing freely as her hands held the gun up, facing at Hawkes. 'Whatcha doing Linds?' asked Danny warily, and at the sound of his voice she almost crumbled, but she told herself she was doing this _for _him, and her hands steadied.

'I'm changing history,' she choked out, and something inside her melted, and she felt at peace with her decision.

--

Danny couldn't believe his eyes when he heard Stella, and turned to see the love of his life aiming a gun at one of his most valued friends. 'Whatcha doing Linds?' he asked, and he suddenly remembered Warrick's deep voice, and what he had said. '_Someone has to die, for us to save the world.'_

_This could work out,_ a dark part of him thought. _If someone has to die, then why shouldn't it be Hawkes? Why shouldn't it be any of them?_

But he knew he was going down a dark path with that statement, and so he drew his own gun, and as the others looks on, he leveled it at Lindsay, tears running down his own cheeks. 'Put the gun down Lindsay.' His voice was steady, something he was grateful for.

'I can't,' she sobbed. 'I'm doing this for you. For our baby.'

Danny was knocked for six with this statement. 'You're not…' he asked.

'Not yet. But she's seen the future; she says we'll have a beautiful baby girl.'

'A girl?' he said, his gun wavering.

'Lucy,' she replied, turning her attention back to Hawkes. 'She can only live once Hawkes is dead.' And with that, she fired, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't notice Flack's huge frame slamming into Hawkes and she didn't watch the anguish on Danny's face as he pulled his own trigger, sending a bullet spiraling through her brain. Her last thought was of Lucy Messer, and the life they would never have…

--

Archie watched the scene in front of him, horrified. He watched the woman -Lindsay? - fire a gun at Dr Hawkes, the man who had helped all of them so much. He watched Flack take the bullet in the heart, and even though he knew he would heal, it still sent a shudder through him as the large man fell to the ground, crimson blood spilling onto the ground again. He watched the older man in the glasses collapse to his knees, blue eyes shimmering with tears.

He watched the other woman, the Hunter, the woman who had killed his friends less than twenty four hours ago scowl, and lift her hands up, as she rose into the air, her hair whirling around her like it was a living, breathing thing. Her blue eyes glowed as she looked down upon them all, and sent hell raining down upon them.

--

In a heartbeat, Danny knew what he had to do. He took control of the situation, dragging Warrick over to the edge of the building. 'You're a flier, right?' he screamed over the howls of the wind.

'Yeah,' she shouted back.

'Good, we have to stop her. Can you carry my weight do you think?'

Warrick smiled, his eyes glinting. 'Sure thing, tiny.' He shed his hoodie, revealing his magnificent wings in all their former glory, grabbing Danny by the armpits and lifting him into the air.

'Hawkes!' Danny called down from Warrick's arms. 'Clear the building and find Mac!' A miniscule Hawkes nodded and ran. The other stood their ground, each trying to help. Nick ignited his fire and sent blasts up, missing the Hunter every time, but only just, so that her long coat was singed and smoking. Adam levitated small stones off the ground and whipped them at her, tiny gravel bullets nicking her skin and clothing.

Warrick's wings flapped powerfully, until they were almost at the clouds. 'Drop me!' shouted Danny, calling his inner animal out.

'What?' Warrick called down, his arms straining. 'Are you insane?'

'Warrick, trust me. Let me go!' And Warrick did.

Danny tumbled towards the roof of the Crime Lab, when the transformation occurred. His bones creaked and melted, reforming into new joints. His skin thickened and scaled over, giving him a brilliant blue tinge. His shoulder blades elongated, bursting out of his back into wings. His spine lengthened, growing down into a long, whip like tail. He grew a snout and his hands and feet became paws, each tipped with deadly claws. He lifted his head back and roared, a great jet of flame licking through the sky. His sapphire eyes glared down at the Hunter, and with a snarl that made surrounding building vibrate, his tucked his wings in and zoomed down, aiming for the Hunter. Warrick joined him, his white wings stark against his dark skin. 'Holy shit Danny,' he laughed, twirling playfully. 'You know how to start a party.'

Danny merely roared, signaling the start of the battle that would rage for as long as it took. Until the hunter was a corpse, lying lifeless on the ground, like so many other people that day.

--

Well, the last bit was a little indulgence on my part, I have a dragon thing xD

Just a quick announcement. This could end one of three ways, and since I can't pick a way, this will have alternate endings. Do people want me to post them as separate stories, or just have them on here as ending one, ending two, ending three, etc? Let me know!


	14. The is the way the world ends

Thanks for the reviews, here's the first ending. Each ending should be about two chapters long, hopefully.

A note: This is probably the darkest of the three endings, just to give you a headsup.

--

**ENDING 1.01**

The Hunter closed her eyes momentarily, feeling the stolen power from the younger Petrelli flare up inside her, filling her veins with fire. Stolen powers from fifteen separate 'heroes' flowed through her, and she smiled, opening her eyes and slowly rising into the air, wind swirling around her. Her hair whipped around her head, and her eyes began to glow.

She had to admit she was surprised when the blonde bespectacled man shifted into a dragon, sending amber jets of flame at her, but she rallied and merely phased through them, leaving the edges of her coat singed but unharmed. She narrowed her eyes as the winged man, the one she had already crippled once twirled and spiraled through the air, his wings creating patterns clearly designed to distract her. With barely a thought she reached out a hand and crushed his wings, almost lazily. He fell to the hard earth below, a cry following him to his grave. The remnants of his dead wings wrapped around him as he fell, but nothing could cushion a blow like that.

The death of the flier seemed to only infuriate the others, and they doubled their attack in fury. Silent tears ran down most faces, and the dragon man mourned his fallen comrade with a keening roar, his lethal talons lashing out at her. She simply summoned stolen electricity to her palms, sending bright blue jolts through him. He shuddered and seized in mid air, his once majestic form reduced to a quivering mass. With difficulty he spread his shaking wings and glided to the surface of the Crime Lab roof, where the great beast lay gasping, before shrinking back into a weak human. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Her superhuman hearing allowed him to revel in the sounds of his heartbeat slowing, before finally stopping. The others didn't realise until three men ran onto the roof, the tallest one looking sharply over to the dead man, and running over, creating a jolt of energy, trying to shock him back to life.

_It's no use Sylar, _she declared mentally, and she knew he had heard her by the jerk of his head, but he didn't give up, replying at the same time as shocking him gently, working furiously to save his life.

_Don't call me that! _ The force of his thoughts sent mental waves out towards her, and she was actually pushed backwards slightly before regaining the ground, and with a sweep of her hand, she sent three of them tumbling off the side of the building, the Greek woman, the younger man sending gravel flicking at her, a missile easily dodged and an older man, stocky but balding, all falling to their deaths, joining their winged companion in the next life.

Sylar stood, abandoning his task to glower at her. His face darkened and the wind whipped up again, knocking her out of the sky. A thrill ran through her as she realised, Gabriel was no more. She had succeeded in bringing back the one person who should have stayed buried. Sylar looked up to the sky, and almost immediately the cloud darkened, shrouding the city in shades of grey. She left him to his theatrics, turning her attention to the elemental, still doggedly throwing fire. The earth shook beneath him, so great was his fury, and tears coursed down his face. He was weak. She killed him easily, bringing his own power down to bear on him, drowning him from the inside. He collapsed, jerking pathetically, and no-one even noticed. They were too wrapped up in their own anger and grief.

One by one, she scoured the rooftop of the so-called heroes, cleansing the earth of those imperfections, until only Sylar was left. He had fought fiercely, more vicious than Peter, he had nothing left to lose. But there was a part of him that was still holding back, still Gabriel.

The wind seemed to slow, until there was silence, just Sylar and the Hunter looking at each other across the abyss, fury painted on both faces. Then she saw it. The chink in his armour, so to speak. She used the dregs of the illusionist's power to turn into the one person Gabriel couldn't face.

Peter Petrelli.

Sylar faltered, faced with his long dead brother, and his power sputtered, before going out. His lips moved, and though she couldn't hear in this sudden silence, she knew what he was saying. Gabriel the angel, Sylar the demon, was saying the Lord's Prayer.

_Our Father, who art in heaven,  
hallowed be thy name.  
Thy Kingdom come,  
thy will be done,  
on earth as it is in heaven  
Give us this day our daily bread.  
And forgive us our trespasses,  
as we forgive those who trespass against us.  
And lead us not into temptation,  
but deliver us from evil.  
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory,_

_For ever and ever._

As soon as the _Amen _escaped his lips, he finally let go. He gave in to the power that had been building up slowly and fatally since the day Elle died. His hands glowed orange, and his eyes and mouth released a light so bright the Hunter had to squint.

And then he let go, exploding outwards like a star, spewing power out like a supernova. He would perish doing this, and he knew it. The light enveloped the Hunter, and the last thing she saw were the faces of everyone, everyone who she had murdered in cold blood, murdered to get what she wanted, murdered on a whim.

--

The Crime Lab fell, like the twin towers, collapsing in. It was empty, save for the bodies on the roof, and no one else was killed that day. The reign of the Hunter, and one man, rising from the wreckage, would tell the world of the battle fought there today, and of the people that fell, saving the world.

--

OK, a short chapter, but the epilogue should be posted ASAP.


	15. not with a bang, but a whimper

Just a note. The second half of the chapter contains beliefs that I don't personally believe in, but need to be there for the story to work. I'm not saying that this is what happens after we die, just that it's one possibility that I personally don't hold much stock in. I mean no offence to anyone or their religious beliefs.

--

**Ending 1.02 (Epilogue)**

New York never recovered from the inferno that raged in the center of Manhattan. Even twenty years later it was wasteland, skeletons of once intimidating buildings creaking and rotten, tumbling down suddenly or gradually, another cloud of ash coating the Necropolis.

The only casualties on the first day had been the heroes, their bodies never recovered. Families buried empty coffins in the outskirts of the uninhabitable town.

A man walked alone through the debris, a path seldom walked by any but him. He was going to the one building left standing after Gabriel exploded, laying waste to New York.

His once jet black hair was grayed with age and dust, and his blue eyes no longer sparkled with joy. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself and moved faster, not willing to linger. He entered the emaciated building, using the shadows as cover. Even abandoned, New York was not a safe town, even for one such as him.

He made his way through the building, suppressing a shudder as he passed the room he had lain dying in over two decades ago, bleeding to death from a gaping wound in his stomach. How ironic it was, he thought, that the only building left standing was the very same that was blown up by a crazed Marine wannabe trying to prove a point. His point was that the city wasn't ready for an attack such as this, and, while not well made, it was certainly true, he remarked to himself, glancing out of a broken window at the decimated city in front of him. A bomb twenty years ago, and the wound was still raw. He doubted whether New York would ever become populated by more than rats and scumbags. _And us, _he thought wryly, coming across the room his associates were grouped in. 'Morning guys,' he said, throwing himself into a chair and helping himself to a beer and a handful of chips.

Grunts of greeting reached his ears, and someone dealt him a hand. The game commenced, leaving Don to watch his fellow players. The man to his right couldn't be more than thirty, and goes only by the name of Rebel. His curly black hair fell down to his shoulders, and his mocha skin was marred by a burn mark spreading across one cheek. To his right was an Englishman, his dark hair cropped close to his head. He's old, sixty or seventy and seemed to be losing his grip on his powers; he wavered in and out of solidity. A lone pigeon sat on his shoulder, cooing quietly. The dealer was sitting in shadow, his face obscured. Don could see his dark hands, flicking the cards expertly. They played poker every so often, migrating back to the city from wherever their current homes were. Don himself lived in the city, he had no idea where the others lived but he found it peaceful sleeping in a city where his friend's spirits were. Poker chips were exchanged back and forth for a couple of hours, until the Englishman- Claude? - called it a day, vanishing out of the room, literally. Don, Rebel and the dealer played until nightfall, before quietly calling the game to a halt, depositing the chips into the cracked china pot in the corner of the room. The first to the next game in two weeks time would retrieve them, setting the game up.

They didn't play for enjoyment, or for the money, the chips were worthless. They played merely so they could have the company of someone like themselves, if only for a short time. They played in the ruined city so they would be reminded of the sacrifices made there.

As Don walked back to his lodgings, an old apartment block on the outskirts of the city, a crumbling building that had defied all the odds and stayed standing for over a decade after the blast. He looked up to the sky. There were no stars; the smog rising up from New York had blanketed the town, sealing the air in and the stars out. He looked up to the sky and remembered his friends.

His faith had been lost a long time ago, but he couldn't help wondering if they were somewhere better now.

--

_Gabriel looked down upon the ruins, watching one man make his solitary journey to what he called home. For twenty years he had been alone down there, abandoned by all except three people. Gabriel himself was alone as well. If he was being honest, he was surprised he'd ended up here, in purgatory. Apparently his final act had tipped the scales so his soul was exactly fifty-fifty. Neither good nor bad, red or blue, heaven nor hell._

_Of course, had Gabriel really believed there was anything after this? Or a higher purpose?_

_A small part of his Catholic upbringing had thought so, but then, the part of him that had been Sylar thought he _was _the higher purpose._

_He watched Don Flack picking his way through the rubble, and he knew that he could have been down there with him. Someone to mourn the dead, share the grief. But if he was down there, so would the Hunter. He had known deep down that the only way to kill the Hunter was to let himself go completely, take himself further than even Peter had gone when he exploded, setting fire to his very soul, so there was nothing left except the shell he was sitting in now, watching the world go by, watching Don Flack go by._

_Don sat in his apartment, surrounded by dust and ash, digging through his pockets for a bar of chocolate Rebel had slipped him, knowing he didn't have much. Gabriel watched him look around at his meager possessions and he felt the sadness rolling off him in waves. Hesitantly, he reached out for Don's shoulder, knowing he wouldn't connect, just wanting the hurt to stop._

_That had been his task. He had to watch over Don Flack. And so he did. He watched the once brash young man grow into a tortured soul, his youth peeling off him as he spent more time in his derelict home. His hand touched Don's shoulder, but this time, instead of fading through, it was solid. Don didn't look around, too content with his own grief, and Gabriel closed his eyes, pouring a sense of companionship into the tattered soul of the former NYPD legend._

_He kept giving and giving, feeling himself grow fainter and fainter, while Don grew brighter and brighter, his mourning replaced with the feeling of something being there for him, watching over him. Gabriel gave until he could give no more, and he sank back into his shell, returning to his role of watcher. He world began to blur again as he was engulfed in golden light, warming him from the inside out. _

_It was his turn? He rose up into the heavens, and was greeted by a woman he thought he'd never see again. Her golden tresses flowed down her back as she stood there as if waiting for him. Blue eyes shone out of her face as she walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips._

_Elle…_

_--_

Below, in New York City, Don was wandering the streets again, his mood magically improved. He loved the night; the night was when the world was his. He walked over to the Crime Lab and sat on a girder, looking out over the resting place of too many of his friends.

Something glinted in the moonlight, and he clambered over rocks to reach it. He held the item in his hand tenderly, as if it were a newborn baby. It was a police badge, dented and chipped, but he didn't care. Nor did he know whose it was, all he knew was that New York was his city, and it always would be. He clipped the badge to his jeans and began searching the wreckage. Surely there would be more badges somewhere, and that meant that his friends could be with him once again.

Just like old times.

FIN

--

Well, that was the first ending. I hope you liked it, despite the darkness and the MASSACRE. The next ending is a lot lighter and it gives someone the happy ending he never got.

Update ASAP hopefully!


	16. Standing as one

Yeah, I know, I know, bad Rachy for not updating sooner. –slaps wrists-

OK, here's the second ending I had planned. A lot happier than the last one hopefully. As long as the muse doesn't pull any stunts. –glares at the muse-

--

_Danny merely roared, signaling the start of the battle that would rage for as long as it took. Until the hunter was a corpse, lying lifeless on the ground, like so many other people that day._

--

**Ending 2.01**

Danny spiraled through the air, letting loose jets of flame that arched and twisted in mid-air. Dancing through them flew Warrick, his wings giving him a grace in the air he could never achieve on the ground. These aerial acrobatics had the desired effect, distracting The Hunter until Danny heard a familiar voice echoing up through the clouds. Mac's voice, the voice everyone listened to. They couldn't help it; years in the Marines had given him a tone of voice people obeyed automatically, without even thinking about it.

_Danny, return!_

Danny looked down at the roof below him, growling a message to Warrick, using one huge talon to signal to the roof. Warrick nodded in agreement and they swooped down, Warrick executing a perfect landing, hovering a few inches above the tarmac covered roof before landing silently. Danny's landing was not so perfect, landing with a thud, his huge claws tearing the roof covering to shreds. The dragon shook himself briefly before changing back, revealing Danny sprawling in a dragon-made trench, his glasses lopsided and his hair sooty. He jumped to his feet, going to join the group. But as he got closer, his entire body filled with a tingle sensation, like all over pins and needles. He wished he could explain it better, but he couldn't find the words. It's wasn't strictly unpleasant, it gave him a sense of being. It made him feel like he had been missing something his entire life, but he hadn't known. It only increased as he joined the others, and from the varying levels of surprise, they were feeling it too. A red glow began to surround them as they formed a line, facing Her.

It amazed Danny how far they had come in such a short space of time. These people who stood with him, some he had known for almost a decade, some for a few years, and some he had known for only days, yet he felt such a strong bond linking them all together, one word popped into his head. Clichéd, but true. _Destiny. _He looked around at his comrades, knowing more about them in that instant than he had ever learnt about Lindsay.

Nick Stokes. The elemental, capable of ripping your head off with his bare heads, but not a mean bone in his body, or a bad word to say about anyone. The Texan, so far from home, trying to hide his scars from his friends, scared of them caring too much, or not at all.

Warrick Brown. The flier, with a self tainted soul and purest white wings. The repenter, trying to right a wrong made so many years ago.

Greg Sanders. The speedster, running away from his home not once but twice, learning that you cannot run away from who you are. The lab geek, hiding behind loud shirts and louder music.

Jim Brass. The muscle, fighting twice as hard as everyone else. The father, trying to keep his daughter safe, because what else can he do?

Archie Johnson. The technopath, supporting his friends the only way he knows how. The outsider, slowly being brought in.

Mac Taylor. The empath, looking for a way to save everyone, willing to sacrifice himself for others. The marine, who spent his entire life in combat and now can't switch off that part of him.

Stella Bonasera. The time traveler, looking to the future to rediscover her past. The orphan, who finally found a home and a family by dealing with death every day.

Sheldon Hawkes. The pre-cog, the one who warned them, rallied the troops for war. The doctor, wishing for peace and finding only hatred.

Don Flack. The healer, unmarked on the outside, permanently scarred on the inside. The cop, looking for a way to end the war.

Adam Ross. The telekinetic, using his power for jokes but being thrown headfirst into a battle where he must fight to stay alive. The dreamer, learning about a world where the rules are not black and white, but multiple shades of grey.

Gabriel Petrelli. The angel, trying to find his place with the Lord. Sylar. The devil, using his powers to save the world and maybe, somehow, finding salvation.

Noah Bennet. The human, trying to survive in a world where everyone is stronger, smarter, faster, better. The company man, finding that one of us, one of them doesn't work anymore, that new rules are to be applied in this new life.

And then there was him. Danny Messer. The shapeshifter, capable of blending in anywhere except at his home. The CSI, picking the law over his family, escaping from a life of organized crime.

There they stood, just thirteen people against the one person they could not hope to defeat.

--

Warrick stood in the line, the exact center, six on his left, six on his right. The words of Maran St John floated into his head, unbidden. _'if I fail, it will be the end of everything.'_

These words strengthened him, and in turn everyone else, as he felt his steely resolve flood through the bond between his friends, his family, himself. Some force made him step forward, looking up at The Hunter. She gazed down at them, her eyes lit up from an internal blaze.

The same force that moved him also moved him to speak, opening his mouth, but spouting words that weren't his. 'You don't belong here,' he said, his words carried by the wind.

She laughed, a harsh cruel sound that made Warrick think of glaciers crumbling into the ocean. 'I belong anywhere I choose to be. Who are you to think you can stop me?'

'Me? I'm no one special. Just a guy. Just like he isn't special,' He pointed at Flack, who looked insulted, mock pouting. 'And neither is she.' He pointed to Stella. 'None of us are really special. Not on our own. But together? We're unstoppable.'

He looked at Hawkes, who stepped forward, his jaw set firm as he met The Hunter's stony glare. He opened his mouth as a stream of Latin flowed from his lips, rolling off his tongue like it was his natural language.

'_Ego iacio vos sicco , turpis creatura _

_Ego iacio vos sicco ut nunquam reverto iterum _

_Ego iacio vos sicco in viscus of orbis terrarum _

_Ego iacio vos sicco ut vos may nunquam vulnero alius solvo animus _

_Ego redimio vos per is typicus of quicumque est bonus quod putus _

_Ego redimio vos per is pentacle a radix of tutela illi per fides , quod illud vacuus.'_

Warrick wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it sure as hell hadn't been this. The light, which seemed to glow from the inside of her turned from a soft glow to a bright, almost brutal beam, bursting from her eyelids and mouth. Slowly, like a mummified corpse, she crumbled, the breeze generated nervously by Nick blowing her across the city. But the dust fell in specific places, and where it touched the earth, a fire blazed gargantuan lines of fire through the city, leaving behind black lines, but no one harmed. Hawkes turned to his friends, a triumphant grin on his face. They had won.

--

Well, there's ending 2. Just three chapters left after this. Hopefully. Also, who like the, for want of a better word, exorcism rite? I wrote it myself you know –is proud-


	17. Saying goodbye

OK, here's the second chapter of ending two. Once again, I own nothing. Not even the Hunter.

FYI, this is a happy ending, although I may have gone too far the other direction. Happy tears warning!

--

**Ending 2.02**

Even in death The Hunter left a trail of destruction behind her. Manhattan was permanently scarred by a large, five pointed star blazed through the streets, imprisoning The Hunter in an earth prison for all eternity.

The thirteen heroes recovered from that day, physically. Almost all of them would bear a psychological scar about the war that hadn't had a chance to start. Danny had lost the love of his life, as had Warrick and all had lost a close friend, be it Maran, Grissom, Sara, Catherine or Lindsay. Even Manhattan recovered eventually, as they had from 9/11, and the explosion that ripped a whole block apart, nearly taking Don Flack's life. The former Las Vegas CSI's stayed in New York, as did Noah and Gabriel. Now the final battle was over, they had no reason to run, no reason to fight. Even the fallen weren't forgotten. Archie had used his ability to rig one of the billboards in Times Square to flash with photos of the dead, Grissom, Sara, Catherine and Lindsay each accepting their immortal plaques. Even Maran was portrayed here, the hero no one but Gabriel and Noah knew, but everyone respected.

For the first time in his life, Gabriel Grey reveled in being _normal._ Six days of the week he lived a peaceful life in the late precog Isaac's loft, fixing clocks, like he had done before Sylar, and like he would do after Sylar.

And on the seventh day, he gathered the heroes and taught them to control and develop their powers. He taught Mac how to control both the lightning that sparked around him when nervous and his empathy, showing him that he could absorb only the powers he chose to. He taught Adam to control his telekinesis and strengthen it. He taught Greg to compress his energy so he could run all day if he needed to. He taught Hawkes to draw while conscious, not relying on his subconscious mind to reveal the future. He taught Jim to repress his strength, so he could use his hands in everyday tasks, like opening a door and leaving it on its hinges. And most importantly, he taught himself self control. He no longer thirsted for others powers like he had as Sylar. He retaught himself humanity, and started a relationship with Stella, who oversaw the crime lab on training days; she already had an abnormal amount of control over her time and space manipulation. She was one of the strongest women he knew, and there was something about her that reminded him of Claire Conrad. No wonder she and Mac made such a formidable team.

Today he was working one on one with Mac, trying to coax his empathy out to absorb his ability to generate below freezing conditions. Sweat broke out of the former Marine's forehead as he gripped Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel stopped him, pacing restlessly around the loft. Sprawled in various places were the other ten trainees, reading magazines, doodling, or, in Adam's case, levitating jelly beans around the room idly.

'No, you're not getting it Taylor,' he remarked, beckoning to Greg, who moved over a little timidly. Gabriel placed his hand on the speedster's shoulder, closed his eyes and concentrated. He felt the tendrils of his conscious flowing down into the older man, tapping into his power, drawing it to the surface and into himself, all the while giving a running commentary to Mac. He opened his eyes and removed his hand, demonstrating his new power with a quick run around the spacious loft.

'Your turn,' he finished, and Mac breathed deep and tried again, struggling to empathize with Gabriel. Deep inside himself, something clicked, and it was like tearing down a wall. Feelings rushed at him, _Gabriel's_ feelings, and he delved further, sifting aside memories and once unfamiliar faces that he now knew as well as his own. Peter Petrelli, his long dead brother, and his real mother Angela. Claire Bennet, the only one who knew how he felt. He moved past them, feeling a sudden sense of invasion. He suddenly found a –he couldn't think of the right word to describe it- something, pulsing with power. He searched it gently, absorbing the ice power as his own. He then retreated, unwilling to spend as little time this deep in someone's conscience as possible. With a huge intake of breath, like surfacing from a dive, he opened his eyes, seeing Gabriel smiling knowingly at him. Mac extending a hand, palm up and concentrated. The temperature in the whole room dropped a few degrees and a thin film of ice covered his hand. He looked round at his friends, a grin on his face. His triumph was well received, his friends beaming back at him, Danny barking congratulations to him. He was another who had mastered his ability and was curled up on Gabriel's bed as a German Shepherd, allowing himself to be petted by Stella, who had a rare day off.

--

The following day, after sleeping for more than eighteen hours, unknowingly exhausted by the successful absorbing of power from Gabriel, who had assured him it would take less effort as he gained more skill in the action, he was focusing all his thoughts on the woman in the coffee shop, one of the mental exercises Gabriel had encouraged him with. He gave a small smile as he saw that he was at the fore of her thoughts, before frowning as he encountered the same small pulse of power as he had in Gabriel. More tenderly than last time, he prodded at it and it exploded into him, filling his every cell. He took his coffee and left, jogging to Gabriel's loft, where he would most likely be working. He knocked on the door before entering. Gabriel looked up at him through a pair of clockmaker's glasses. 'Shouldn't you be at work?' he asked mildly, uncapping a bottle of water and taking a long drink.

'I think I accidently absorbed a power,' he replied, sliding into a chair opposite Gabriel. Gabriel gazed at him over the top of his glasses.

'What power?' he asked, putting his tools away.

'No idea.' Mac shrugged. 'I didn't see it in action and came straight here afterwards.'

Gabriel frowned, thinking. 'Well, apart from trying to draw it out, there's not really anything I can do.' He massaged his temples with his fingertips. 'I would kill for Parkman right now.' He shook his head. 'Go to work. Tell the others about this, they can keep an eye on you. You can't keep missing work because of your lack of damned control.' With that he turned back to the watch, the conversation apparently over.

Mac raised his eyebrows before getting up and leaving, heading to work once more.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and it was when he was on his way back home he was accosted by Warrick. 'Need some company?' he asked, smiling at his silent friend.

'Sure,' replied Warrick, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension in them. Keeping his wings furled for a twelve hour shift was both uncomfortable and painful.

'Well, I'm headed to the cemetery; I can always use some conversation.'

They made their way through the crowds to the cemetery where Mac had had a gravestone placed for Claire. They had buried an empty coffin; her body had never been found, and now Mac knew why. She had been alive, and possibly still was. They stood in silence as Mac paid his respects to his not dead, just missing wife. Warrick placed a huge hand on his friends shoulder as a single tear ran down his face.

'It wouldn't be so bad if I just knew where she was,' he said after a while, wiping the tear away.

'It's the not knowing that gets people,' added Warrick solemnly. Catherine might be dead, but at least he had some form of closure. Mac nodded slowly before his hands started a familiar tingling.

'Oh crap,' he muttered, taking hurried steps away from Warrick. The last time he had lost control, he had almost fried Flack. Lucky he was a healer, but people still gave him a wide berth when he was pissed. Warrick looked up, concerned, but neither of them was expecting what happened next. Mac's eyes filmed over, and in front of him a ghostly image formed. Warrick blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the apparition stayed. It gained more body, until a solid figure was standing in front of Warrick, a figure he knew all too well.

'Catherine?' he gasped, his eyes tearing up.

She smiled sadly, moving towards him and placing a hand on his cheek. 'Stop blaming yourself,' she said simply. 'There was nothing you could have done.'

'I could have been stronger, I could have fought for you,' he said, furious with himself for letting himself react like this.

'You did fight for me. You fought in my place, and you won,' she said, serene. She looked angelic, her blond hair wafting around her face like a halo. 'Goodbye Warrick.'

'What? You, you can't leave, I've just got you back,' he cried, grabbing her arms and holding her close.

'I have to go. I can't stay here.' She said, fading in the clear summer light.

'I love you,' he choked out, tears falling down his face.

'I love you too,' she said, and disappeared. Someway away, Mac blinked and his knees sagged as his eyes returned to their normal grey-green-blue state.

'What the hell just happened?' he breathed, but Warrick didn't answer, instead staring at the place Catherine had stood only moments ago.

''Rick?' he asked, advancing slowly. Warrick looked up, his emerald eyes piercing.

'Thank you, Mac,' he said, wiping his eyes.

Mac frowned, confused. 'What for?' he asked.

'For letting me say goodbye when I couldn't.' he said and shed his jacket, freeing his wings. He crouched and jumped into the air, his powerful wings flapping to carry his weight. 'See you tomorrow!' he called down to Mac, who had by now recovered physically and watched his friend leave, soaring over the streets of New York. Behind him, he felt someone's presence, an ability given to him by years of being first a Marine, then a cop.

He turned and looked at a woman, her long hair a rich chocolate colour and her eyes a vibrant green.

'Claire?' he gasped.

She smiled.

--

Now then I do have an epilogue planned for this, but I'm undecided about it at the moment. I hope you liked that chapter, please review! Only 1 ending after this!


	18. Nature gives back

OK, at Courtney's request, this chapter would have been two, but is now one. Note: The first part, in italics, is set the day after last chapter (ie, a year after the battle). The second part is set some time later. (see dates for more info)

I own nothing. Well. Nothing you recognize.

--

**Ending 2.03**

_September 16__th__, 2010_

_They say there are approximately 216000 babies born every day, all over the world. The world has a population of 60 billion. What are the odds?_

_In Chicago, Shaun McSkelly discovered that he could heal from any wound, no matter how serious or life threatening, as did Kristin Regula in New Hampshire._

_Edward Fawcett, of Dublin, Ireland, woke up one day and discovered he could fly. But only when he was with his adopted brother, Phillip Haynes._

_In Rome, Joe Messina stopped time, just for a second._

_Chelsea Barker dived into a swimming pool in Melbourne, freezing it instantly._

_Lydia and George Maropalos set fire to their high school in Athens, killing seventeen people._

_Nikolai Abramova, of Narimakov, thought he was going crazy, because he was hearing people's thoughts. Not good, when you're the Chief of Police._

_Coraline Lavery awoke in Newcastle from a dream of two men sitting in a bar, toasting the dead._

_Iris de Boer, in Amsterdam, shorted out the electricity in her entire apartment block, in her sleep._

_The Hunter was gone, and the heroes thrived. The genetic markers, identified by Chandra Suresh, what seemed like a life time ago, before the war, were still as dominant as ever. And nature gave back it's heroes, slowly. One by one. First the healers. Then the sponge, and his brother, the flier. The time traveler and the freezer followed, as did the fire starters and the mind reader. And the ones who started it all. The precog and the lightning girl. Two best friends who couldn't possibly have bonded in a normal world, but in this, they were the beginning and the end of a war that hadn't been fought._

_--_

_September 16__th__, 2210_

Fall had arrived in New York City, and the sky was grey and drizzle fell unrelentlessly. All over the streets of Manhattan there were umbrellas, circles of red and blue and green hurrying home, people flipping their collars up to keep their necks dry. No one wanted to be caught out in the storm that was lingering overheard, waiting to strike.

Two figures met at the door to a little bar, one forgotten by the times. They both wore long black coats, the collars protecting their necks from the bitter wind that had whipped up almost instantaneously.

They walked in the bar, just like they had done for the last two hundred years, and ordered drinks. The taller of the two sank into a bar stool, two hundred years of world weariness catching up to him. The smaller man settled himself in for a long night of talking. He was looking forward to it. They met up once a year. A lot can happen in a year. He'd spent the last eight months in Japan, soaking up the culture Hiro Nakamura had sworn by. He sipped his drink slowly, watching the exhaustion in the other mans eyes.

Don Flack looked around him at his surroundings. All these years, and Sullivan's hadn't changed a bit. The city had changed around it, but this dingy little bar in the heart of New York was the same as it had been when he'd first set foot in it, a scared rookie, still wet behind the ears, gazing around him at the grizzled veterans.

How the times changed. No longer a rookie, he was almost two hundred and forty years old, and when Gabe looked at him, he knew he was seeing the age he felt. Sure, his body was still thirty years old, but his soul was more than seven times that, and he was damned if he didn't feel every day of it. He raised his glass towards his drinking buddy.

'To Gabe. Still the strong silent type.'

Gabe chuckled, raising his own glass. 'To Don. Who still doesn't know when to shut his trap.'

The tone turned serious as they toasted their friends.

'To Nick, the Texan with the fiery temper.'

'To Warrick, who lived life on the edge, flying fast and low.'

'To Greg, the little speedster with the big heart.'

'To Jim, who fought strangers as fiercely as for his friends.'

'To Archie, the outsider who found his way in.

'To Mac, the empath who felt for everyone, who lost his wife twice and came through it both times.'

'To Stella, who always had time for her friends and family. '

'To Danny, the chameleon who blended in anywhere, but especially with his friends, people like him.'

'To Shel, the visionary who saw the future without his powers.'

'To Adam, the crazy kid who grew up faster than any of us.'

'To Noah, the most normal of us all.' Gabe smiled at this. How anyone could consider Noah normal was beyond him.

'To Maran, the one who started the war, and ended it.'

They were silent for a minute, and they each knew the other was silently toasting their fallen friends, the ones the other hadn't met. Gabe toasted his family, his brothers, his lost love Elle. His friends, who fought so hard so that he could save the world.

Don toasted his colleagues, the cops who had died in the line of duty. Tony Vincenzi, who had died the night everything blew up in his face. His father, passing away at sixty from cancer.

Two hundred years, and they had both lost so many people.

They drank quietly that night, content to just be there, with their friend. They talked of everything and anything. Gabe told him of his time in Japan, the things he had learnt. Don talked about his work in Romania, building an orphanage. He spoke Romanian fluently. Immortality gave you a lot of time to learn languages. Between them they spoke nearly thirty languages.

They finished their drinks eventually, after much refilling of glasses and procrastinating, and threw some money onto the table, leaving together. They parted ways outside, one turning left, one turning right, but each knowing that their paths would inevitably cross, as they always did.

'See you next year,' one called to the other and they left, disappearing into the shadows.

--

Well, that was ending 2. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the last, but it was just wrapping things up. The last ending should be up soonish, and it (hopefully) very different to the two endings I already have. Also, I have a whole little series leading on from this, on prequels and a sequel, which should be up soon, barring any procrastination. Thanks for reading!


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